The Price of Freedom
by CDrake
Summary: The galaxy recovers after Saren's attack on the Citadel, but all is far from well. One month after Shepard is reported KIA, a young man from a distinguished bloodline is released from prison, the key to finishing his mission buried in his DNA. With extinction on the horizon and chaos threatening to erupt, can an ancient brotherhood hope to survive? The price of freedom is high…
1. Initiation

AN: Cover art credit to KM33

* * *

Citadel Security HQ

Year 2183, 2 months after the Battle of the Citadel

"Next."

A lanky young adult stepped forward and grabbed a proffered stylus, a set of ungracefully orange clothes covering his entire frame except for his face. A pair of light blue eyes flickered from the turian in front of him to the datapad in his hands, then to the long line behind him.

"Seems an awfully inefficient way of doing business, officer."

The cop looked up at him with bright golden eyes and an intensely annoyed expression on his face. Not even the strangeness of turian facial construction could hide _that_ one. "Most of our VI systems have been down since Saren's attack, so for now, this is the best you get, con."

The younger man grimaced noticeably as he put a date down on the 'pad. "Miles."

The turian shot him a glance. "Excuse me?"

He leaned forward. "The name is Miles. I'd appreciate it if you used it."

The cop snorted and typed on his terminal. "Well excuse me if I have to process three dozen of you in the space of an hour, but as far as I'm concerned, you lost all right to my or anyone's respect the moment you decided to—" The turian's golden eyes widened comically as he gaped at the man's record, a single entry on the list. He looked up at Miles slowly, to which the younger man responded by arching an eyebrow and giving him a sarcastic look. "Well...uh...just sign here, Mr. Miles, and I'll have you on your way."

Miles smirked and picked up the stylus, signing his name on the provided line.

"Don't take this the wrong way, human, but I hope we never see each other again."

His smirk vanished, replaced by a grim expression. "Don't worry," he replied quietly, finishing with a flourish and tossing the stylus on the desk. "We won't."

Without another word, he grabbed the parcel containing what little possessions he had and marched out the door into a nearby bathroom. Two minutes later, he emerged wearing a light gray hoodie and dark blue jeans, zipping up the former even as he walked out the door. Endless, listless minutes passed as he wandered the halls of the Citadel, many of them torn up or outright demolished. He didn't care. He didn't notice. All he knew was that around forty minutes after leaving C-Sec, he found himself on an upper catwalk, leaning against a railing overlooking one of the Presidium's massive lakes.

"You gonna jump?"

Miles jumped slightly before whirling around to face a woman with multicolored hair and a roll of cotton candy in her hand, steadily disappearing into her mouth. "What?"

She took another bite and nodded toward the rail. "The lake. You gonna jump?"

Blue eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?"

The woman shrugged. "Dunno. Just the look'a you."

The rest of his body turned to face her, arms crossed. "And how do I look?"

"Like you're gonna jump," she answered simply.

Miles rolled his eyes and sighed hard.

She gulped down another bite. "It's your eyes, and your stance. Your whole body language. Everything about you."

He cocked his head. "Would you stop me if I did jump?"

The girl thought it over for a moment. "Considering how far away you are, and that I'm sitting down, I don't think I could. Nor would I."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Her violet gaze locked with his intensely. "Because it isn't my place to meddle with another's fate."

Miles stared at her for a long moment. "Who are you?"

"My name is Rada, but that's not really what you're asking, is it?"

"What _am_ I asking?"

She stood slowly, keeping a safe distance from him. "You're asking who I could possibly be that I'd care what happens to you."

He stared blankly. "Something like that."

Rada smiled a little. "A friend. If you want me to be."

"What makes you think I need a friend?"

"You're thinking of jumping."

He snorted and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "And why would you want to be my friend?"

"Because you're special, Arthur."

The color drained from his face as his jaw dropped halfway, then clenched with a snarl. "Who the hell are you?"

She lifted a hand calmingly. "Like I said, I'm a friend. One that knows who you are and why you feel like death is the only option left to you."

"You don't know anything about me," he growled, turning back to the railing and leaning his hands against it.

"Don't I?"

He smirked bitterly. "Okay, I'll play. Full name?"

"Arthur William Miles."

"Date of birth."

"September 4th, 2162."

"Place of origin."

"Terra Nova. Parents: Patricia and Reginald Miles, deceased. Siblings: one, Teresa Miles, deceased. Served two years for second-degree murder, released on a legal technicality and for good behavior. Psych profile suggests a reckless disregard for personal safety." Rada arched an eyebrow at him. "Did I miss anything?"

Arthur blinked slowly, his expression blank. "The profile also had a very short life expectancy outside of prison."

She shrugged. "Well, considering the diagnosis, I can't say that one's a shocker."

Arthur stared at her, his expression pinched. "What do you want?"

Rada's expression softened considerably as she took a few steps toward him. "I want to help you, to give you another option."

"Why? You've seen my record. I'm an ex-con, a killer."

She shrugged. "That's what the file says. But see, I've seen a lot of people commit suicide. Thieves, businessmen, racketeers...not killers. See, most killers, the true killers, don't just take lives, they make a point to put other people in the ground, not themselves. If anything, they're the consummate survivors, because from their point of view, every person that dies and isn't them increases their chances of survival." Rada smirked. "But you don't have that problem, do you? You don't care whether you live or die, because after Teresa...you have nothing left to lose."

His eyes stung and voice dropped to a whisper. "Exactly."

Rada took another step toward him, a gentle hand laying on his arm. "Then come with me. Let me show you something, give you a chance to make another choice, give you something to live for, or at the very least something better to die for. If after everything you decide that you still prefer death, I can provide a much quicker and more painless way than falling half a mile into a frigid lake."

Arthur glanced up at her, gulping hard as he blinked several times. A full ten seconds passed before he nodded slowly. Rada smiled warmly and took his hand, leading him to a nearby skycar and taking off seconds later. Arthur blankly stared out the window as the wrecked Citadel passed them by, the spire holding the Council meeting chambers coming into view before vanishing behind a slew of high-rise buildings. Rada brought the skycar down onto the landing pad of one, motioning him out and into the penthouse suite of the residence.

"Nice pad," he commented once they were inside, absently sliding his hand over the surface of an oak-wood table.

"Thanks. It's a work perk."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh? What do you do?"

She smirked and waved him toward another room. "You'll see."

Arthur marched after her, seeing the woman put her palm against a panel, a beep sounding through the room a moment later as a section of the wall gave way. They entered together, Miles staring at a whole lot of sophisticated equipment with wide eyes and an open jaw.

"Sit," Rada said simply, motioning to a contoured, backward-leaned chair with wires connected to both it and an array of terminals.

He cast a dubious look at the equipment, but sidled up to it anyway and cautiously seated himself. His eyes flickered from one terminal to another as she pulled up several dozen programs, data flickering across the screens too fast for him to process.

"What is this thing?" he asked.

Rada glanced up at him. "It's called an Animus, a device that can process the finer bits of your DNA and unlock hidden troves of buried data."

Arthur blinked rapidly and shook his head. "Meaning?"

She smiled at him. "Memories, Arthur. The Animus accesses memories."

"My memories?"

Rada nodded. "And so much more."

He arched an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

She smirked. "You'll see. Before we get started, I need to tell you a few things that probably no one ever has." Rada leaned toward him. "We've been watching you for a long time, Arthur. You and your family. We waited years, decades, for someone like you to emerge, so we could finally step in and bring you into the fold."

He sighed hard. "What are you _talking_ about? Who's 'we'?"

Rada's lips pursed. "Your family is part of a long and distinguished line of people whose contributions to humanity cannot be overstated. The things your ancestors have done..."

"Okay, that's _them_ , what about _me_?"

She blinked. "You have that potential too, Arthur. You're worth far too much to throw your life away, and the Animus is going to show you why."

His brows furrowed. "How? I haven't done anything of note or worth in my _life_."

"Not yet."

He stared at her, thinking hard as his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. You mentioned that my ancestors were notable. Do they have anything to do with what's in my DNA?"

Rada smirked. "You catch on quick. As a matter of fact, they have _everything_ to do with what's in your DNA."

His eyes widened. "You can access _their_ memories through me."

"Exactly."

He blinked a few more times. "Then...what exactly are you going to show me? There must be billions, _trillions_ of memories buried in there."

"Oh, there certainly are," she replied, "but for now, we're going to focus on a few from one of your more...recent predecessors. Desmond Miles." She pulled up a picture of a white-hooded man who looked vaguely similar to Arthur. "Lived in the 21st century. Perhaps one of the most impactful and important of your line to date." Rada looked over at him. "He saved the world."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you mean Earth."

"Yes, I mean Earth, but we'll get to that memory in time. For now, I want to show you something he saw a great deal earlier."

Arthur took a deep breath and sighed hard. "So...how does this work, do I just—"

"Relax, Arthur. You just relax."

He nodded slowly and laid his head back, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. On the fifth, his eyes shot open and air shot into his lungs as white flooded his vision. The blank sheet of light faded after a few moments, and he was confronted with a shower of golden light, the blurry haze sharpening into a glowing room seconds later, a holographic humanoid hovering in front of him.

"Before the end and after, we sought to save the world."

Arthur nearly shrieked at the force of the voice assaulting his senses.

"Hang in there," Rada said softly in the edge of his subconscious.

"We built vaults within which to work," the hologram continued as more holograms appeared, one of each planet in the Sol system and its sun, "each dedicated to a different method of salvation. They were placed underground to avoid the war which raged above, and also as a precaution, should we fail in our efforts. Each vault's knowledge was transmitted to a single place."

The hologram of Earth flared with energy on the far east coast of North America, showing a location somewhere in what used to be New York.

"It was our duty—mine, Minerva's and Juno's—to sort and sample all that was collected. We chose those solutions which held the most promise, and devoted ourselves to testing their merits."

Three figures, two female, one male, appeared, splitting off in separate directions.

"Six we tried in succession, each more encouraging than the last. But none worked...and then the world ended."

A massive solar flare sparked from the sun, consuming everything on the surface of Earth, including, as the hologram said a few moments later, all but ten thousand humans and just a few of these...Precursors.

"Listen," the figure said sharply. "You must go there, to the place where we labored...labored and lost. Take my words. Pass them from your head into your hands. That is how you will open the way. But be warned: much still remains in flux, and I do not know how things will end—either in my time or yours."

Suddenly, the vision shifted, and sparks of another flashed through Arthur—Desmond's vision. Shrieking—wailing—explosions and death. And machines. Gigantic, building-sized machines.

Arthur's eyes flew open as he sat upright with a loud gasp, sweat pouring down his face and chest, a haunted look in his eyes. Slowly, he looked over at Rada.

"Desmond...he saw."

She nodded slowly.

"But he...he didn't know. It was incomplete. He didn't know what they were."

Rada moved to his side and sat next to him.

Arthur's palms pressed against his eyes, rubbing them hard. "He was the first to see the Reapers."

"From what little we've been able to piece together, that vision you saw was of a defunct Reaper corpse on Earth in the cycle _before_ the Prothean extinction, when they were still building their empire."

"And the solar flare?"

"A Reaper field test, of a weapon set on a timer, meant to wipe out entire populations without directly harming the planets themselves. Soften up the galaxy's population so that when they came to harvest, they could do so virtually unopposed."

"I see," he whispered. "So Desmond knew exactly what Shepard is— _was_ talking about."

"Yes."

Arthur stared at the ground, frowning deeply.

"Do you understand now, what makes you so important?"

He looked up at her and nodded solemnly. "If I access more of Desmond's memories, I could find the key to defeating the Reapers."

"Yes, or at least a way to even the odds somehow." Rada stared at him for a moment. "Are you with us?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Chances are, we'll all go extinct if I'm not, so do I really have a choice?"

She smirked. "Not so much, no."

Arthur shrugged. "Count me in."

"Then let's get started." Rada smiled widely and stood, then strode back to the terminal as he mounted himself on the Animus.

...

As the weeks flew by and days began blending together, Arthur found himself reeling at the sheer amount of information he was being forced to process in such a short amount of time. He learned about Desmond's sacrifice, how the solar weapon was defeated and the released Precursor AI purged from existence. He learned about the Templars and Assassins, the never-ending struggle that carried well into the 21st century. Most importantly, he learned about the Pieces of Eden, First Civilization technology built to subjugate and control the human race.

"Once upon a time," Rada was saying, "there was something of a First-Civ arms race between the Assassins and Templars, where we each made a mad scramble for every Piece of Eden we could get our hands on." She tabbed through a terminal, Arthur standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. "And then we found the Prothean data archive on Mars." A 3D image of researchers poring over ancient obelisks came up. "And all that suddenly became irrelevant."

Arthur frowned deeply. "But the fight continued. Control and free will. Templars and Assassins. The premise may have changed, but not the goals."

"Only too true," she muttered.

"Then...where are the Templars now? They're obviously not Abstergo, since that company was exposed and toppled in the 21st century."

"No," she replied, "and now they're no longer in control. For once, _we_ finally have _them_ on the run."

His dark brown brows furrowed. "How? Who are they?"

Rada looked over at him, then back to the terminal as she began typing. "Once upon a time, about a quarter century ago, they didn't have a name. They were scattered, broken, dispersed among the innumerable stars. But now they go by..."

Arthur's eyes widened as an image popped up, a black hexagonal diamond flanked by two gold arcs.

"Cerberus," he finished for her.

Rada looked over at him. "You're familiar with this symbol?"

He nodded gravely. "I saw it...on the computer of the man I killed." His eyes narrowed and turned to her slowly. "Wait a minute. You _knew_ , didn't you?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Knew what?"

He backed away from her and pointed an accusing finger. "You said—you said you'd been watching my family for a long time, that you'd been waiting. You _knew_ the Templars were responsible for what happened to Teresa, didn't you?"

Her guilty sigh was all the answer he needed.

Arthur gaped at her incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, Arthur," she droned in annoyance, "can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have gone off half-cocked, untrained, and tried to take out your sister's killer?"

"I—no...but _exactly_ how long do you expect me to wait? It's been three _weeks_ since you stole me away, and I still haven't even _started_ training."

Rada smirked and arched an eyebrow, then snatched a scalpel off her desk and threw it straight at his head. With a quiet yelp, Arthur's eyes slammed shut, and a loud clap filled the room. It took him a few seconds to realize something cold and hard was touching his palms. When he managed to pry his eyes open, his jaw dropped, and he stared at the scalpel caught between his palms. Slowly, he drew them apart, the fingers of his right hand closing around the instrument as he held it just in front of his face, absently noting that Rada had stood and approached him.

When she closed to three feet, with a smug air and a smirk, he offered her the knife, and she took it calmly, pocketing it.

"An untrained man would've been skewered on that blade."

Arthur stared at his hands. "So why the hell wasn't _I_?"

She snorted gently and walked back to her terminal. "The Bleeding Effect, an unforeseen byproduct of the Animus, at least when it was first created."

He blinked several times, gaping at her. "Okay, I'm no genius Animus techie like you, but an effect subtitled by the word 'bleeding' doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

Rada huffed with a dismissive wave. "Relax, hotshot. The Bleeding Effect isn't harmful—well, not anymore. It's a byproduct of the Animus process, of the unlocking of your genetic memories. What Desmond experienced, you now remember, in vivid and physical detail."

His eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute...you're saying—"

"The more of his memories you experience, the more of him imprints onto you, and the more of his skills you pick up." She shot him a mad scientist's smile. "We'll have you trained and combat-ready in less than a month."

Arthur's head shook as he let out a slow breath. "Okay...okay, something I don't get. You keep saying 'we,' but I have yet to meet any more of you."

Rada shrugged, looking back to her terminal. "Oh, they're around, doing this and that. The Templars may be on the run, but that doesn't mean we're back to full strength either. The fact is, we only reduced _their_ numbers by sacrificing a great many of our own...and fifteen years later, we're still not back to full strength."

Arthur's blue eyes narrowed. "Wait...fifteen years?"

The scientist frowned and looked down.

Realization dawned on him. "Jesus," he breathed, pacing as a hand rubbed his forehead. "My parents—they were..."

Rada nodded stiffly. "They were the ones leading the charge. The...war to end all wars." She laughed bitterly. "They didn't want to have to raise their children in the Assassin lifestyle, so they put everything they had behind one final campaign. Didn't quite work out like they planned, but we take care of our own. I...made sure of it."

"Then why did you let Teresa die?"

The older woman paled and sighed. "That...was never supposed to happen." Her violet eyes flashed. "But then neither you nor your sister were supposed to discover our secret war, either. Your safety was contingent upon that fact."

"But you were waiting for one of us to find out, so you could bring us back in."

Her lips pursed and arms crossed.

"Why not bring her in?"

Rada looked away, staring off into the distance. "I had an agent watching you two, making sure you stayed out of trouble, didn't get too close. I don't know if he turned, got complacent, or was just plain stupid, but he lost track of Teresa at a critical time...and she got into something she shouldn't have. By the time I found out about her...inquiries, it was too late. She was marked for death, and one of the Templars got to her before I could even dispatch someone to protect her."

"What about the agent?"

Her expression darkened. "He vanished after the fact. No reports, no body, not even a travel record. It was like he dropped straight off the face of the galaxy." She leaned forward in her seat. "After Teresa...he didn't really seem important, but you were, so I looked into your whereabouts personally. Tried to find you. I didn't succeed until I arrived at a financial building in the Presidium, and by the time I spotted you, you were being loaded into the back of a C-Sec skycar."

Arthur frowned deeply.

"Arthur...I swear, if I'd found you before you found Varo, I would've joined you. Helped you to eliminate him, the right way, cleanly."

"But that wouldn't have been the end of it, would it?"

Her head shook slowly. "The man who killed your sister was a Templar, not just one of their lackeys, and he's still out there." She stood and approached the twenty-one-year-old. "If you want to find him, I can help you." The scalpel was retrieved and offered to Arthur. "But in return, you need to help me."

He stared at it for a moment before looking back up at her.

"Can I count on you?"

Arthur's jaw set as he snatched up the blade without looking. "What's next?"

...

1 month later

Citadel Security HQ

4 months after the Battle of the Citadel

"Have a good night, Larsen."

The flanged voice filled the dark, nearly empty space outside the C-Sec lockup as one of the last policemen filed out for the graveyard patrol. Doing one last check of the doors, the turian desk sergeant gave a long-suffering sigh and sat down to fill out paperwork, completely oblivious to a shadow that moved in his peripheral vision, and not because the light source shifted angles. A small click sounded from behind him, and a gasp came from his throat as his eyes widened and he froze in place, a sharp point jutting just under the material of his uniform, right above a weak point in his spine.

"Stay calm, officer," said a rough, deepened voice. "I have no intention of hurting you."

The turian gulped roughly, hand slowly reaching for the backup piece on his upper thigh. "What do you want?"

"Access to the holding cells. There's a man here that I need to speak to."

"Then come back during visiting hours," the cop countered as he slowly opened his concealed holster. "I'm not letting you in." His taloned fingers brushed the inside of his holster—with no contact with any sort of metal.

The cold muzzle of a small pistol was pressed to the side of his head as the blade on his back dug in just enough to draw blood. "I won't ask again." A moment's pause, and the assailant let out a sigh. "Look. I know you're just doing your job, but so am I. The man you're holding, he has powerful friends in high places, and he's very valuable to them. They will kill to get him out of your custody, understand? I'm trying to prevent that."

"By doing what? Talking to him?"

Another pause. "Something like that."

The turian snorted. "And what assurances do I have that you won't just kill him? It's obvious you two aren't friends."

"If I'm not mistaken, all the holding cells have cameras. You can watch us from there."

"That still won't give me enough time to stop you if you try anything."

"No. It won't."

The cop's mandibles twitched, but he nodded slowly and tapped a key on his terminal. "You got five minutes."

"Good man."

A click sounded from behind him, and the point's presence vanished, as did his gun.

"In case you were thinking of calling for backup, I inserted a worm into your systems. It's blocking all outside communication, both over the waves and hardlines. It'll self-delete after five minutes."

"Then you better get going." The turian took a few more breaths before slowly turning around. All that greeted him was an empty booth, the only entrance locked from the inside. "How did—?"

He blinked rapidly, then shook his head and turned to the camera feeds, tabbing over to each one until he spotted the intruder, a gray-hooded man whose face was covered in shadow and clothes were reinforced with ablative armor around the joints. The hooded man stopped in front of one cell, and the Turian checked the prisoner log, identifying its tenant as one George Vane, arrested for insurance fraud, racketeering, and tax evasion. The intruder stood and cocked his head to one side, then activated his omni-tool and powered down the cell's containment field.

The desk sergeant tabbed over to the cell's internal feed and activated the microphone.

"Oh Lord...it's one of you." The fear in Vane's voice was palpable. "An Assassin."

"Don't snivel, Vane," came the rough reply. "It doesn't suit you. And besides, I'm not here to kill you. Not today." He crouched by the man's bed, face away from the camera. "Today, you get to serve a higher purpose than lining your pockets with the riches of the poor."

"W-What do you want?"

"Information. Two years ago, a man made a deal with you to buy off an entire section of the Citadel; city officials, cops, you name it. He wanted a district in his pocket. I want to know why, and I want to know where I can find him."

"But—you're crazy. The deal's already done, has been for two years. He's _untouchable_ now."

"Maybe to the law—but not to me."

Vane gulped hard. "Charles Erstein...the man you're looking for is Charles Erstein, and he frequents Chora's Den, not out of patronage, but management. It's in—"

"Zakera Ward," he interrupted. "I know the place. What kind of security will he have?"

"I don't know! I handled the money, not the muscle. Ask his security chief, or better yet, walk through the front door. You're _sure_ to find out then."

The hooded man snorted and stood. "Cute. But how do I know you won't warn him I'm coming?"

Vane shook visibly. "I-I wouldn't...I _can't_. I'm in _here_."

"You Templars always find a way," he replied. "I need assurances, something that holds weight."

The turian glanced at the virus clock, with only sixty seconds left.

"I—I—"

The same click from earlier sounded over the mic, an eight-inch blade proceeding from the infiltrator's left wrist.

"Please!"

The blade rose and fell—leaving a long diagonal mark in the wall, stopping just before his neck.

The hooded man strode toward the door, retracting his blade with a click. "Deal with the Templars again, and I'm coming back for you."

"Y-Yes, sir."

The Assassin stopped in the doorway, turning his head to look back at the prisoner as the clock hit zero. "Keep your nose clean, and you might have a future when you get out of here. A _real_ future."

The convict stared at him blankly.

"I don't make a point of letting good resources go to waste, Vane. Do good, and you'll be rewarded. Do bad, and...well...you get the idea."

He gulped and nodded.

"You've got a second chance here. You _won't_ get a third."

And with that, he marched out the door, powering the containment field back on as he made for the exit. Dumbstruck, it took the desk sergeant a few seconds to hit the silent alarm, calling for every available officer to book it to HQ. Reaching over to his left hip, he drew his service weapon and ran toward the cell block just in time to see a shadow slip out a side door. The door slammed shut behind him, locking solidly, the same worm from earlier in the controls and blocking his credentials.

Activating an application on his omni-tool, the cop overloaded the terminal and forced the door open, sprinting after the fleeing intruder. He finally caught up to him on a catwalk overlooking the Presidium lake.

"Freeze!" he yelled, his weapon trained on the Assassin's back.

The target stopped in his tracks, right in front of a destroyed railing, only empty air between him and a long drop.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands on your head!"

He lifted his hands and slowly turned to face the cop. "You know...I lied to you."

The turian's golden eyes narrowed. "Oh? When?"

"Two months ago. You said you never wanted to see me again. I said you wouldn't. I lied."

The cop's eyes widened, and his gun lowered for a fraction of a second. "Miles?"

"Before, what I did, the man I killed...there was a _reason_ he had to die. I just didn't know it until afterward. The Citadel, the whole _galaxy_ is in danger from people like him, and without people like me to stop them...our freedom and our entire way of life will end."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't expect you to understand, Sergeant Varus. At least, not yet. But you will, and I hope to God that when you do, we'll find ourselves on the same side."

"You're a killer," he stated flatly. "I'm a cop. That's not a likely alliance."

"Maybe not, but then, neither were humans and turians, or turians and krogan. We all saw how _that_ panned out. Those 'unlikely alliances' saved the galaxy." Varus saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Here's hoping for a few more." He took a step backward. "Goodbye, Sergeant. I'll be in touch."

Varus' eyes widened as he stretched his arms out to his sides and stepped off the edge. "Miles, no!" He sprinted for the falling human, leaning over a section of intact railing and just managing to spot the Assassin land atop a hovering skycar in a crouch.

Miles sent him a salute before pulling himself inside and taking off.

...

20 minutes later

Chora's Den, Zakera Ward

"I'm sorry sir, the club is closed for—"

A choked gasp came from the guard's throat as a fine trickle of blood spilled from a thin hole in his lower chest, the flow turning into a small gush as a blood vessel near his kidney bled out. The guard collapsed to the ground as a gray-hooded figure marched past his body and through the doors of the unpopulated nightclub. Two guards stood by a far door, unaware of his presence since he kept the bar blocking their sight line. An empty bottle was picked up and thrown to his far left, shattering against a wall and drawing their attention as he sprinted right.

Arcing around the room, his footsteps were only detected when he closed to less than ten feet, and by then it was too late. Closing the last few steps, a scalpel entered his right hand as his left stretched outward, a blade shooting from his wrist with a quiet click. The gurgling of spilled blood echoed in the quietly humming room as the right guard bled from a slit in his throat, the other uselessly clutching his chest, heart pierced. The Assassin stepped into the hallway behind them as their bodies hit the floor with a muffled thump, the scalpel returning to its slot on his belt.

Another three stood sentry in the hallway beyond, blue eyes narrowing as an inch-thick pellet entered the Assassin's hand. The ball sailed toward the trio, hitting the center man with a resounding pop as smoke filled the hall. Their weapons activated and turned in his direction, a few scattered shots firing randomly, none coming anywhere close to his position. The hissing of fabric against tile heralded the Assassin's slide toward his targets, a hidden blade piercing the thigh of one before he yanked it free, using the backward momentum to spin his body as it slid to a stop, a trip-kick knocking another to the ground.

The scalpel flew into the last man's neck before he could pull off a shot, and the hidden blade made a reappearance as it was thrust into the second man's chest. Yanking it free, the Assassin kept walking toward the back of the club and the administrative office there, bending down to retrieve his thrown blade. His left hand's omni-tool implant flared as an overload program was prepared and uploaded to the door controls of the locked office. Another pellet entered his right hand as his left hovered over the "open" function. The moment his left index applied pressure to the controls, his right dropped the pellet and his body lunged forward into a diving roll.

Smoke filled the entryway and five feet of the room beyond as gunfire rang out from a half-dozen firearms. The telltale hiss of overtaxed weapons discharging heat buildup filled the air as Arthur let out a long breath, a thin lane of smoke displaced by his exhale.

And then he moved.

Arthur's gray blur sunk his hidden blade into the thigh of one, piercing his femoral artery even as it was yanked free with his side roll toward another target. A pistol-whip was ducked and countered with a rising uppercut, the stunned guard pulled between Arthur and incoming fire as the Assassin's left hand grabbed the now-dead guard's gun from limp fingers and pumped shots in the attacker's direction. He went down with a triple-tap to the chest and a loud grunt, the human shield used as a springboard to lunge for the fourth guard with a flying cross to the right of his jaw.

A countering knee was deflected and used to throw the attacker off-balance and into the line of fire. The last guard was more careful, waiting for a clean shot as Arthur engaged guard four hand-to-hand. A series of jabs were deflected and countered with a left hook and an arm-bar that was broken with a side-kick to Arthur's lower torso. Stumbling back a step, the Assassin snapped his head away from a knife-swing and planted a left jab on the guard's jaw, grabbing his knife-hand on the way back and pulling him forward into a right knee.

Coughing hard, the fourth guard tried to move out of his comrade's line of sight, but was stopped with a shin kick to his midsection, followed by a left hook to his jaw that spun him around. A thrust-kick to the ass sent him stumbling into his partner, throwing his aim off and sending his shot into the far wall. A scalpel pierced the gun hand of the fifth guard as the target made for the emergency exit. Arthur lunged for him but found himself falling forward when an impact slammed into his left shoulder hard.

Grunting as he hit the ground, Arthur barrel-rolled away from two more shots, rolling into a backward handspring that sent him onto the far side of a three-legged table, which tipped over upon his landing. The metal tabletop stopped the next three bullets to streak toward him, and he kicked it toward his attackers while using the momentum to roll toward the door. He was out before any more bullets could tag him, his omni-tool slamming into the controls and locking them in as he sprinted after Erstein.

The fleeing Templar made a mad dash for his skycar, but a discreet push of an omni-tool control sent a mini-charge he planted on its engine assembly exploding. The fried propulsion system sparked and sputtered just as Erstein reached it, a stream of hissed curses flying from his throat as he whirled around, a Karpov Mark IX pistol in his right hand as Arthur's eyes went wide. The young Assassin dove for cover as five shots were discharged in his direction, most hitting the wall he was hiding behind.

After ten more bullets were expended, Erstein paused, silence filling the alley as they considered their next moves. Evidently, Erstein's move was to laugh and monologue.

"Almost three thousand years we've been at this, and even in the 22nd century, you Assassins are still relying on puny knives to get the job done." He spat. "Pathetic."

"I could say the same for you," Arthur countered, "but for different reasons." He reached down to his belt, taking stock of remaining supplies. "To me, guns are a crutch, a cop-out for those who lack the skill to take out an enemy up close and personal."

Erstein's head cocked. "Oh yeah?" He put two shots into the crumbling wall. "How's that workin' out for ya?"

Arthur winced. "I'll admit, some days are better than others." His hidden blade popped out with a click, and he angled it carefully, preparing to move. "And some days..."

The light falling onto the silvery blade reflected into Erstein's eyes, and the Templar yelped as he threw his empty hand in front of his face, gun firing blindly as Arthur rolled from cover. Two more shots rang out, splitting the still night air. A muffled thump as a body hit the ground. Several heavy breaths as Arthur slowly lowered Varus' backup piece, striding toward Erstein's body and kicking his pistol away.

"Some days you have to fight handicapped," he finished. "And in those cases...a crutch is acceptable."

Erstein coughed up bloody saliva as he pressed a hand to his chest and Arthur crouched over his body. His hidden blade snapped from his sleeve, his right hand holding the Templar's left shoulder.

"Charles Erstein, I hope you find peace in the next life, because this one's going to be anything but peaceful...no matter which side you're on."

The blade pierced Erstein's spine with a quiet _snikt_ , ending his life instantaneously as Arthur leaned over his corpse, bowing his head solemnly.

" _Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_." A human, lithe, hooded, and clothed in dark red, stepped from the shadows, arms tucked behind her back. "The wisdom of our creed is revealed through these words."

A hooded Asari stood flanking the red-clad woman. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember—"

"Nothing is true," Arthur answered quietly, still bowed over.

Another figure, top-heavy and hooded, joined the other two in a triangle around Arthur, his flanged voice filling the alley. "Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember—"

"Everything is permitted," Arthur finished.

The three standing around him spoke as one. "We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins."

Rada stepped forward, the shadows cast by her red hood doing nothing to hide the proud glint in her eyes as she took Arthur's left hand, lifting him to his feet as the other two each grabbed a shoulder.

"By taking the fight to our enemy," she said firmly, "you have proven both loyalty and willingness to follow the creed, even to death."

Her right hand pulled his left glove off as her left turned his hand palm-down. Her right omni-tool flared, a flash-fabricated needle appearing in her fingers as she pressed it into his left ring finger. Arthur hissed quietly as pain lanced through the appendage, but quickly worked past it as invisible ink was injected into his finger, the process lasting only a few seconds. Rada's injector disappeared, replaced by an ultraviolet light streaming from her omni-tool. Four pairs of eyes looked with approval on the lightly glowing symbol of the Assassins beneath the surface of his skin.

Rada's smile was visible even in the deep shadows cast by her hood, especially as she looked up at the taller man with pride in her expression and voice. "You are one of us now, Arthur." She clasped his left hand with hers, her right hand covering the back of his. "Welcome to the Brotherhood."

The other two flexed their grips on his shoulders.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood."

* * *

AN: Hello all. Been workin' past a nasty bit of writer's block lately, trying to continue with my Flash crossover, but it just hasn't been workin' out. So, I decided to try something a little different. Mass Effect and Assassin's Creed. Weird combination, I know, but I kinda like it, especially with all the parallels between Cerberus and the Templars, the primary one being their obsession with ultimate control.

I hope you liked this little side shot. I may or may not add more to this fic. I don't know. In my opinion, this is a pretty solid standalone piece, but if I get enough interested viewers, I might continue Arthur's story. I might rate this as mature in the future, since if I decide to keep going with this, I'll have to, primarily for language and severe violence. In case any of you are wondering, no, I do not write smut. Really just not my thing. I could, but I don't. Inasmuch as possible, I try and keep my stories relatively clean, but with the Mass Effect universe...eh, that gets a bit difficult.

At any rate, feel free to review and show your love for this fic if you so desire. Like I said, this was just some random idea that popped into my head recently, so it may not be my best work, but hey, practice makes perfect.

 _Oya, vode_.

\- CDrake

P.S.: If extended, this story will share universes with another crossover I may or may not develop alongside this one, focusing on a completely different character that will probably make a few cameos.


	2. First Impressions

21 months later

Arcturus Station

2 years, 1 month after the Battle of the Citadel

"Admiral, we understand your concerns, but I'm afraid we cannot allow military forces to enter the Terminus systems, no matter how much I may feel for your people."

Admiral Steven Hackett sighed hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Councilors, I recognize that relations with the Terminus systems are strained at best, but isn't there anyone you _can_ send, at least to investigate the situation? I would consider it a personal favor, both to me and the Alliance."

The alien councilors shifted uneasily over the vid-comm while Anderson smirked off to the side.

Eventually, Sparatus spoke up. "While we appreciate what the Alliance and humanity at large have done for the Council and the galaxy, we cannot afford to spare even token resources for what could very well be a simple pirate outbreak."

"With all due respect, Councilor," Anderson broke in, "even if pirates _could_ drag entire colonies into the dark, how long would it take before they gather enough resources to be considered a threat, not only to Terminus, but to the galaxy at large? We _all_ know how resourceful criminals can be, especially after Saren."

Sparatus bristled a bit, but, as the consummate politician, kept a poker face. "Councilor Anderson, your point is made, but after Shepard's actions and following demise, our relationship with the Terminus systems is _beyond_ strained. At this point, they're just looking for an excuse to pick a fight with us."

"A fight which they _know_ they would lose," Anderson replied, "badly."

"But it would still cost both sides far more than we're willing to risk," Tevos interrupted. "I'm sorry, but our answer is still no."

A pronounced sigh came from both humans, Hackett nodding slowly. "I understand. Thank you for your time. Hackett out." He nodded to a nearby analyst, who shut down the link as he forced his fists to relax.

"Don't you just _love_ politics?"

The admiral stopped mid-step, turning to face the source of the voice and let out an exasperated sigh. "Should I even ask where you got that uniform?"

The young man huffed a laugh and pushed away from the wall he was leaned against. "Probably not, no."

Hackett gave him an arched eyebrow and a sideways look. "Something you need, Arthur?"

"Information."

"You _always_ need information. Anything in specific?"

He motioned to the inactive holoprojector. "What you were discussing with the Council just now."

Hackett frowned and narrowed his blue eyes. "Why would a man like you be interested in something like that?"

Arthur smiled sardonically. "Because I think there's a connection between those disappearances and my work."

The admiral's expression sharpened. "Cerberus?"

He nodded slowly. "If humanity is involved, chances are they're not far off. Besides, you wanted someone to look into the disappearances. I can do that while I'm investigating Cerberus."

Steven's lips pursed hard, the scar over his upper lip stretching with the motion. "I've been trying every official channel I can think of, and more than a few unofficial ones, in an attempt to do something about those colonies. Even if you are just one man, one is better than none." He pulled up his omni-tool and typed into its holographic interface. "I've sent what we know to your omni-tool...and a little more information you might be interested in. Something you've been looking for, I think."

Arthur's blue eyes sparked. "Cross?"

Hackett nodded gravely. "Cross. Just a rumor, really, but his name came up when we were gathering intel on the missing colonies. If Cerberus is responsible, chances are he's their agent."

Arthur pulled up his omni-tool and tabbed through the file, a malevolent smirk rising to his lips. "Thank you, Admiral." He powered down the device. "You've been a great help."

He nodded in response. "Anything we can do bring down those terrorist bastards. Shepard tangled with them once or twice before he...I'm just glad to see someone else carrying on his legacy." The older man smiled slightly. "I think he'd be proud of what you've managed to accomplish."

The younger man's jaw tightened a little. "Thank you, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course. And Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"In case your...independent firm ever goes under, you don't look half-bad in an Alliance uniform."

Arthur smirked. "I appreciate that, but I was never one for following orders. Goodbye, Admiral."

Hackett gave him a nod, then went back to his office as he walked out.

...

Arthur weaved through a crowd of citizens, both rich and middle-class, while making his way toward the docks, one eye on the street, the other on his omni-tool. Tabbing through one file after the next, he stopped at a picture of Aaron Cross, the man standing at six-two with cold gray eyes and looks that could kill. Honestly, he got it. He got exactly why Teresa had chosen to trust him, but no amount of handsome countenance or charm could erase what Miles knew about Cross.

Before his mind could keep going down that dark path, a name in another section of the file caught his eye. Gaze narrowing, he tabbed over as his legs carried him into the hangar where his ride waited. Arthur's blue eyes shot wide open, staring at both the name and picture with a sinking feeling of dread. He ground to a halt when he looked up and saw the picture's subject standing on the gangplank of his ship, arms crossed with a snarky expression on her face. An involuntary sigh flowed from his lips.

"Christ almighty," he groaned. "Hackett couldn't have sent anyone else?"

The woman lifted a sardonically amused eyebrow and stepped aside to let him through. "Nope. I'm the only Alliance personnel left that he can trust without fail, especially for something this sensitive."

Arthur snorted ungracefully. "Sensitive," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked teasingly, following him into the airlock.

"Nothing, you bloody madwoman."

She smirked and crossed her arms. "Oh shut it. Hackett knows we work well together, so what does that say about _you_?"

Arthur gave her an unamused look. "Williams, don't think that just because you're one of Shepard's old crew, I won't space you out the airlock if you annoy me. This trip is _not_ going to be like last time...or the time before that."

"Uh huh. And I thought you wouldn't space me because we're _friends_."

"Shut up."

The airlock opened with a hiss, admitting the pair as two analysts strode past, arguing in rapid "geek-speak," as Ashley had once called it. The woman in question was sticking right by his side like a leech, both as he gave orders for the pilot to head for the mass relay, and as he made for the captain's quarters. Halfway through the door, Arthur made an about-face and stood in the doorway, arms braced on either side as Ashley stopped short.

"Something you need, Gunny?"

She crossed her arms and shot him a look. "That's 'Operations Chief Williams' to you, jackass."

"Ooooh, so we're resorting to name-calling now, are we? Tsk, tsk."

Ashley sighed and rolled her eyes. "If you _must_ know, I'm the only one Hackett trusts for this mission, not only to make sure the investigation is done right, but to keep an eye on _you_."

Arthur crossed his arms and gave her a look. "You're joking, right? So two years isn't enough for him to finally lay off with the probationary bullcrap?"

She smirked and shook her head. "Miles, two _decades_ wouldn't be enough to send a mercenary without Alliance supervision."

He gave her a dark look. "I'm not a mercenary."

Williams raised a calming hand. " _I_ know that, but in the eyes of the law, there's little difference. Hackett's just trying to cover his bases, in case anyone, specifically the _Council_ , decides to start asking questions they shouldn't."

Arthur sighed hard and closed his eyes, rubbing them with one hand. "I know. I just...really hate political bullcrap, you know?"

Ashley snorted and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm pretty sure that can be said of every soldier."

They exchanged a long look before breaking into laughter.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" Arthur asked between chortles.

"How could I _forget_?"

"Did you _ever_ think we could work together without killing each other?"

She lifted an eyebrow, a wry smile on her face. "Do you really need to ask that?"

...

19 months ago

Factory District, Zakera Ward, the Citadel

6 months after the Battle of the Citadel

"Look, tell 'im that if 'e wants to short me a 'undred thousand credits, 'e can do it to my face, that way I can break 'is stupid little mask in person. The next time that zhackass comes around, you tell 'im Talus Dorian has a bullet with his name on it, _comprends_?"

A gray-clothed man vainly tried to hide an amused grin as the harried loading worker sped off back to work, waiting for him to leave before approaching the foreman. The older man sighed hard, wiping the back of his head across his sweaty forehead and only spotting the approaching figure when he glanced toward a currently loading shipment. Relief broke over his features.

"Arthur! Thank God you're here!"

He lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Oh? Why's that?"

Talus took him by the arm and ushered him into a secluded corner. "I 'ave a...small problem. A volus, goes by Ferus Nil, 'e's been stealing from my shipping business."

Arthur held back a snicker. "Talus, that isn't even your primary method of income. Hell, it's not even a _big_ part of your income."

Dorian rolled his eyes and sighed. "Zat's not ze point, Arthur."

"Then what _is_ the point?"

"Respect, _mon ami_. He 'as no respect."

"So...you want me to do what exactly? I'm no businessman, and certainly no cop."

"No, but what you are is a man of many talents, one of which includes intimidation. I believe you once framed it as putting the 'fear of God' into someone."

"So you want me to scare the living hell out of a volus so he'll leave you alone."

"Exactly."

Arthur sighed hard, looking off to the side. "What if...I just get you your money back, and find another way to get Nil out of the picture—permanently?"

"Zat vould be perfect...not that I'm advocating overt violence, since zat would be about sixteen different types of indiscreet."

"Mhm."

Dorian leaned toward him earnestly. "But if you can pull zis off, I will be in your debt."

"Uh huh. I know."

" _Merci_ , Arthur. _Merci beaucoup_."

Arthur gave him a look. "Uh huh, yeah, you know I can't understand you when you go all French on me, right?"

Dorian rolled his eyes and waved at him dismissively. "Ach, _faire chier_!"

Miles snickered and turned away, hands in his pockets. "Yep, _that_ one needs no translation. See ya Dorian." As he strode toward the taxi terminal, his omni-tool flared to life, and he made a call on a C-Sec frequency.

"Hello?" asked a flanged voice on the other end.

"Lieutenant, how are you feeling?"

There was a brief pause. "As you humans would say, like the ass end of a train wreck."

Arthur laughed loudly, a grin plastered to his face. "I hear that. The meds workin' okay?"

"Well enough, I suppose. But you didn't call just to check up on my health, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't. You wouldn't happen to be near any C-Sec terminals, would you?"

"Why?"

Arthur glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "I need you to check on a name. Ferus Nil, volus. He's been running a scam on a shipping business based out of Zakera Ward. I need to know if he has any priors."

"Got it. Gimme a second."

About thirty seconds passed, and Miles climbed into a waiting skycar, programming a destination near the Zakera docks.

"Okay. Ferus Nil, born on Irune, moved to the Citadel about eight years before Saren's attack. He has a couple of cases referencing his name, mostly white-collar crime, but so far nothing's stuck."

"Well it's about to. That shipping company belongs to a friend of mine, and he doesn't take kindly to getting robbed."

"So, what, you're in the crime-fighting business now? Gonna apply for a detective shield?"

Arthur snorted. "Oh _hell_ no. This is _quid pro quo_. He doesn't know it yet, but the owner is about to owe me big, and I'm gonna cash in that favor right away."

"I'm guessing I don't want to know what that's for."

"You guessed right, Varus. This is something you want no part in."

"I'll take your word for it, Miles. Says here that Nil's got an apartment in Tiberius Towers, on Silversun Strip. Might be worth a look."

"Got it. Thanks, Lieutenant."

"Of course. And Miles—"

Arthur blinked and looked down at his omni-tool. "Hm?"

"Er...thanks for getting me out of there. You know...you warned me about that raid, but...I didn't listen. Thanks for not leaving me to my stupidity."

The Assassin smiled a little. "You're a good cop, Varus. Maybe a little _too_ good, a little too dogmatic about following the rules, but still. I wish there were more like you... _but_ since there aren't, I gotta protect the few that are still breathing."

"I...appreciate that. Get back to me when you have something."

"Will do. Miles out."

The call cut off a moment later, and his taxi landed just in front of the customs office. Stepping out, he transferred a hundred credits to the driver's account and shut the door behind him. The C-Sec office was in sight in seconds, and he submitted to a full-body scan before stepping through and walking up to the desk of the ornery Lieutenant Bailey.

The gray-haired human grunted noncommittally. "Yeah, what is it?"

Arthur cleared his throat pronouncedly, prompting Bailey to look up, an exhausted groan coming from his lips.

"Jesus, not you again."

"Yes, Lieutenant, it's me, wondering, once again, if you acquired that...item I requested."

Bailey snorted and reached into a drawer of his desk, pulling out a data card and tossing it to Arthur's side. "Happy now?"

"Oh come on," Arthur protested with a smirk as he picked up the chip, "there's no reason to be hostile about this."

"Hostile?" Bailey asked incredulously. "Boy, you haven't _seen_ hostile from me. Wait until I'm in interrogation with a real live scumbag, and _then_ you'll know what hostile looks like."

Miles' smirk vanished as he scanned the chip with his omni-tool. "Well, you might just get that chance. Because if I'm right, you'll have not one, but _two_ suspects to interrogate soon." He looked up at Bailey. "And one them's a grade-A psychopath."

Bailey grimaced. "My favorite," he muttered.

"Yeah, so...anyway. Just be ready. You're about the only person in this office that I trust to process him right. You'll know why when I bring him in."

"I'm sure. You stay safe out there, kid. Lot of nasty folks have been lookin' for you since that job you pulled last week. Heard they even hired a krogan bounty hunter to take you out."

"I always knew I'd get some flak, but a krogan? Seriously?" Miles shook his head. "Fine. I'll deal with it. I always do."

Miles huffed his way out of the office, shuffling around a gushing asari couple leaving the souvenir shop on his way up to Level 28. The Dark Star Lounge wasn't particularly crowded at this time of day, but it was still loud, providing the perfect backdrop for sorting through reams of data. The card given to him by Bailey contained biographical information on one Francis Keller, including a rap sheet a mile long for assault, extortion, menace, and generally being a jackass. A small snort left his nose as he found a mug shot taken after the turd had just taken a hit of red sand.

His dark brows furrowed when he came across an entry detailing known associates, blue eyes coming to a stop when they came across the name "Ferus Nil." His eyes narrowed. _No way_ that's _a coincidence._ Tabbing forward in the file, Arthur found an entry labeled "schedule" and pulled it up, cross-referencing times and places with GPS coordinates on the Citadel. _This guy's a freakin' hopper. Never stays in one place for more than half an hour._ He looked toward the current date and smirked.

 _But he's slated to be just two levels down in five minutes, meeting with someone at Saronis Applications. Perfect._

His omni-tool closed down as he strode out the exit, managing to cross half the level in less than thirty seconds as he made for the stairs. Descending two levels, he ground to a stop and turned off into a secluded corner, pulling his hood up. He rounded a corner into a semi-open plaza, seating himself in an empty chair at a streetside restaurant while his right hand pushed an earpiece into his right ear. A few keys on his omni-tool were pressed, and a laser mic activated on the end of his left index as he discreetly pointed at an animatedly talking Keller, his arm flat on the counter in front of him.

"Yes. Yes of course. Look, I have the goods, you clothead. Well, if you intend to get your hands on them anytime soon, I want what we agreed upon. Yes, you idiot, and if you want to keep your people safe, I suggest hiring better protection."

He went silent for a while, and Arthur glanced in his direction to see him glancing around suspiciously.

"This line's been compromised. I'll call you back, and when I do, your master better have an agreement ready, or I'm pulling out, understand?"

Keller shut down the link, then took another look around and headed for a nearby shipping warehouse. Arthur followed at a discreet distance, always sure to put a small crowd between him and the criminal until Keller entered the warehouse. The Assassin rapidly closed the distance, slipping through the entrance before it could close, then tucking himself behind a nearby crate for cover. He peeked around the corner of the crate, seeing Keller typing furiously into his omni-tool, a small scowl on his face and muttered curses under his breath.

Deciding to take the direct route, Arthur stepped out of cover and rapidly closed the distance, his movement attracting Keller's attention just in time for the man to draw a concealed weapon. It clattered to the floor a moment later when Arthur smacked it from his weak grip with his right hand, his left holding the point of his hidden blade barely half an inch from his neck. Eyes wide, Keller stared at the hooded Assassin with a gulp.

"W-What—"

"Shut up," Arthur interrupted harshly. "Your newest client, I want his name, _and_ I want to know _exactly_ what you're acquiring for him."

Keller huffed with a roll of the eyes. "Go to hell. You think you're the first thug to shake me down? I'm untouchable, asshole. Why? Because I'm the great acquirer, the man who can get anything, anywhere. And since everyone wants something, nobody ever comes after me, nobody smart anyway. Say, you want the same thing they want? You pay me for it. Double." Keller hissed sharply as the point of Arthur's hidden blade dug into the side of his pudgy neck.

"Or I could cut off little pieces of you until you give it up."

He snorted. "Please. You do that, you'll be bringin' down the wrath of every crook, mobster, and corrupt politician on the Citadel on your head."

Arthur smirked malevolently. "You say that like I haven't already, and, well..." his voice lowered to a threatening hiss, "I'm still here."

Keller gritted his teeth. "You won't be much longer. Now I remember. See, my client warned me about you. The man in the gray hood. Hides in the shadows, strikes from the edges, where you can't ever see him comin'." He smiled crookedly. "Wanna know what I think?"

"Not particularly."

"I think you're a big fat pussy, who can't afford to take someone on like a man."

"Of course I can't afford to. Call me a coward all you like, but in my experience, only fools rush in headlong. Now, the name."

"Go to hell."

Arthur's eyes rolled as he sighed and retracted the blade, lowering his arm to his side.

Keller let out a nervous laugh as he took a step back, leaning against a crate. "See? Knew you were too much of a pu—"

Miles dashed forward, scalpel in his right hand, the tip pressed just under his eyebrow. An ear-piercing shriek filled the empty warehouse as the razor-sharp blade cut into Keller's trigeminal nerve, the pressure not releasing until about ten seconds after it had begun. Keller panted heavily, his breaths labored and fast.

"Name," the Assassin growled. "Now."

"You don't understand—"

Keller shrieked again when the scalpel was reinserted, this time lasting just five seconds.

"No," Miles ground out, " _you_ don't understand. I _despise_ employing torture. Inflicting pain takes a certain level of sadism, to a degree I just don't possess, but I stomach it for the sake of the greater good." A scowl planted itself firmly on his face as his voice volume rapidly escalated. "So when assholes like _you_ decide to _piss me off_ —!"

The scalpel approached again, but Keller drew back and waved his hands animatedly. "Wait-wait-wait! Stop, okay?! I'll—I'll tell you. I'll tell you, just...just give me a minute."

Arthur's eyes narrowed dangerously, their surfaces glinting in the light reflected off the metal floor as Keller recomposed himself. He wiped the scalpel on one of the racketeer's sleeves, both to keep the blade clean and emphasize a point. Based on the way he paled a moment later, he got the message loud and clear. Keller gulped hard, adjusting his collar, and then spoke.

"Tannis. His name is Tannis. I don't know if he goes by another, but that's the only one he gave me."

Arthur nodded to him. "What else do you know about him?"

Keller racked his fear-addled brain for a few moments. "Meeting! We're supposed to meet at the docks in half an hour to discuss further terms of our arrangement. Bay D28."

Miles looked him over for a few more seconds before nodding slowly. "Thank you. If I were you, I wouldn't show up to that meeting."

He snorted. "Trust me, I plan to be as far away from this feud as possible. Oh, and one other thing—according to my sources, Tannis is in—"

A loud pop rang out from quite a distance away, a nearby window shattering as a high-velocity bullet streaked through, impaling Keller and knocking him into a nearby crate. Miles responded instantly, shoving the man over his backrest and using that momentum to leap into a backward roll that carried him out of the path of another shot. He looked over at the bloodied crate.

"Keller!" he called. "Keller, do you hear me?"

Silence was his only answer.

"Shit," he whispered, peering out the shattered window, toward the relative trajectory of the bullets and finding only an empty rooftop. _Something tells me his second shot was for Keller, not me. After all, what does it say when an assassin can't shoot straight?_ He glanced around, spotting no other movement. _Better make myself scarce. Won't go over well if C-Sec finds me standing over a dead man._

Arthur exited the warehouse through a side door, checking over his shoulder and breathing a sigh of relief upon reaching the outside. His relief evaporated when he ran headlong into a woman wearing hot pink and white armor. The way his jaw and shadowed features tightened must've tipped her off that something was wrong, because the next thing he knew, she had his arm in a painful hold and his chest against a nearby wall. _Oh, perfect._

"Where's Keller?"

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Francis Keller. Where is he?"

"I don't know what you're—ach!"

She twisted his arm a bit more. "Don't lie to me. I got a tip that a bad deal was going down in this warehouse, and when I arrive, what do I find except a shifty guy sneaking out the side?"

Arthur groaned, though more in frustration than pain. _Stupid, stupid,_ stupid _! Rookie mistake! How could I_ not _have checked that corner?!_

"Well?" she asked sharply.

Miles stayed silent.

The woman snorted and activated her omni tool, one hand still holding him in place. "Command, this is Williams. I've got a—"

She yelped when his boot heel landed on the joint of her instep, his body spinning to get leverage back in his wrenched arm as his feet left the ground. Both legs wrapped around her neck as his body kept spinning, the woman hitting the ground back-first as they tumbled to the ground. The arm that had been holding his was held in both hands, his right leg acting as a lever point as he pulled it about ten degrees in the wrong direction. A sharp gasp left her throat as she fought through the pain, left hand reaching to her hip and deploying a fully-loaded pistol. Arthur twisted away as the first two shots rang out, the woman rolling away from him and to her feet.

He leapt and juked around the next shot, smacking the barrel away from his face before hooking her in the jaw. She countered with a thrusting knee to his gut, which knocked him back a step, just enough for her to pull off another shot. He twisted his head away from the barrel just in time for the round to fly past his head, then dove for her legs, managing to off-balance her long enough to disengage and tackle her. Both legs wrapped around her left arm as his hands pulled on hers, wrenching her arm in the wrong direction and disarming her of the pistol. A firm kick was planted on her face from the ground, and Arthur rolled backward out of range of her counterattack to level the weapon at her center mass.

Of course, by the time he did, she had reached to the back of her belt and yanked a shotgun loose, each holding a high-caliber barrel on the other as they breathed heavily. They stood there for about ten seconds, immobile and tense, before Arthur's eyes narrowed and lips parted.

"Wait a minute...Williams..." His eyes widened. "Holy shit. You're Ashley Williams, former Normandy crew."

She snarled slightly, blood streaming from her broken nose. "So?"

Arthur's lips pursed tightly, and he let out a long breath. _Here goes nothing._ Slowly, he lifted the barrel of the pistol, holding his hands up and lowering the weapon to his side, collapsing it. "I didn't come here to pick a fight with you, or make a bad deal." He motioned toward the warehouse. "The man I was meeting with is dead, killed by a sniper from that roof." He pointed to the building in question.

She didn't look. "And I'm supposed to believe that. Why?"

"Because if you don't, a very dangerous killer is going to escape justice." He pulled up his omni-tool and projected a blurry image of a man with a karambit in one hand and a kukri in the other, both dripping in blood, not all of it human. "They call him ' _Il Carnefice_ ,' the Executioner. He's a contract killer for various criminal and mercenary groups, prized for his ability not to leave evidence while at the same time performing messy execution-style kills." Another image, one of several of his victims, was thrown up, all with throats expertly slit.

Williams looked him over suspiciously. "So, what, you're an undercover cop?"

Arthur winced. "Not exactly, but I do work with them on occasion. Think of me as...a concerned third party."

Her eyes widened. "Spectre?"

His head shook. "I'm not recognized by any government entity in the galaxy. By all rights, I don't exist, but today I need to, because Tannis, _Il Carnefice_ , is going to be here, at the Citadel, in less than twenty minutes, and I need to be on the docks to greet him."

Ashley looked him over dubiously, her shotgun still held at hip level.

"Look, if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead, no ifs, ands, or buts. You're not. So, what you need to decide is whether you're willing to trust an anonymous tip or a C-Sec file several years in the making."

Her brown eyes narrowed. "And how do I know _you_ aren't the killer? That image wasn't exactly clear."

"You don't," he replied with a shrug. He pulled the collapsed pistol from his belt, then handed it to her grip-first.

She stared at the weapon for a few moments, locking eyes with him, then taking it with her left hand and storing it on her left hip. The shotgun returned to its place on the back of her belt. "Fine. But at the first sign of trouble—"

He held his hands up. "Trust me, I know."

Ashley nodded toward the street. "Lead the way," she ordered, keeping him in front of her at all times.

Arthur sighed and obeyed, making his way toward the docks.

"You got a name?"

The hooded man glanced back at her before responding. "Miles. Arthur Miles."

...

Present

Arcturus Station, docks

"Pre-flight check complete, sir. We're on the move."

Arthur nodded firmly, casting a glance at his Alliance chaperone and rolling his eyes as he looked over at the ship status UI. The _Aquila_ , named after a ship captained by one of his ancestors, was a ten-man corvette equipped with full FTL capability, a decent amount of firepower, and standard military-grade armor and barriers for a vessel of that size. Nothing to write home to mom about, as far as combat specs went, but it was sleek, fast, and discreet—in other words, perfect for an Assassin mobile base of operations.

The fact that Admiral Hackett had essentially given Miles exclusive license to contract for sensitive Alliance jobs, not to mention two years of a steady working relationship, allowed him access to military specs that, for most, were illegal to get a hold of. One such design, which was acquired very much off-the-books, was the stealth system for the Normandy SR-1. Intended for a ship much larger than the _Aquila_ , the emissions cloak had to engage its cooling system with only a fifth of the frequency of the Normandy, allowing them to stay hidden longer under more technical strain.

Add that and its relatively small size to additional external panels meant to blend with the black fabric of space and reflect sunlight, and when the stealth systems were engaged, the corvette was nearly impossible to detect.

"Mass relay in sight. Proceeding with jump in three...two...one..."

The _Aquila's_ dark form sped toward the mass relay at a breakneck clip, the engines tuning and slowing them down as they curved into an entry arc. A tongue of electricity snagged the rear of the ship, jolting the occupants slightly as they prepared to jump. A second later, and they shot off toward the next relay, a complex course charted for the Terminus Systems.

"Captain, you've got a long-distance call from General Victus."

Ashley arched an eyebrow. "Victus?"

"One of my contacts," he explained. "I'll take it in my quarters."

Williams rose from her seat. "You want me to—"

"No," he cut her off sharply, making his way off the bridge toward the captain's cabin.

Once inside, he made a quick scan of his room to make sure no one bugged it while he was ashore. Finally, he strode up to his private terminal and powered up the tightbeam receptor. A holographic image of a gray-skinned turian with white face markings blossomed in the space in front of his desk. Arthur bowed his head respectfully.

"Mentor," he intoned.

"Miles. Good to see you."

"Likewise, sir. Something you need?"

"Something _you_ need, actually. Information."

"Is it about Cross?"

Victus threw him a peeved look. "No. More important."

Arthur worked hard to keep a wince off his face.

"Shepard."

He didn't have to work at neutrality anymore. "What about him?"

Victus drew closer to the camera and lowered his voice a bit. "He's alive."

Arthur's eyes widened to their max as his jaw dropped. "But—I thought—how?"

"It wasn't easy, but he was...resurrected, for lack of a better term. Reconstructed from his base components and revived. Far as we can tell, he's retained full functionality and memory."

"That's..." Miles let out an audible breath as a grin forced its way onto his face. "That's _incredible_ news."

"It is."

Arthur's brows furrowed at Victus' grave expression. "Then why do you look like you just swallowed a toad?"

"Because of who's responsible for his return from the dead."

Miles stayed silent, dreading the answer.

"Cerberus."

The young man suppressed a violent curse. "Two years...two years we've waited for some good news, and we finally get some only to have it marred by their grubby little hands."

"Not to worry, Arthur. Shepard is still Shepard, we made sure of that."

"How?"

"We had a man inside, named Wilson. One of us. He was part of the team assigned to bring Shepard back from the dead. A brilliant scientist, but he became...greedy, opportunistic. Tried to murder everyone aboard the research station when Shepard showed signs of permanent recovery. Thankfully, the commander hit the ground running. He got out okay, but Wilson's dead, and any direct connection to Shepard is gone, for now."

"What about alterations? Mental implants?"

"Wilson may have gone AWOL, but he made sure they installed nothing of the kind. And besides, the Illusive Man himself didn't want anything that could compromise Shepard's personality or independence, despite the insistence of the project's leader."

Miles' brows furrowed as he sat and braced his chin on clasped hands. "Who was the leader?"

"Miranda Lawson, daughter of Henry Lawson. Brilliant but egotistical."

"Which one, daughter or father?"

Victus snorted. "Both. Although I admire their shared ruthlessness, I do not feel I can condone Henry's...activities as much as Miranda's."

"But she's with Cerberus. A Templar."

"That has yet to be fully determined. There are plenty within the Templar ranks who are not, themselves, Templars. Many in their employ who are still blissfully unaware of their masters' true purpose. If that can be said of Ms. Lawson, we may have an opportunity to gain an extremely powerful ally."

Miles nodded slowly, looking off to the side. "So the Grand Master himself avoided exerting direct control over the most dangerous man in the galaxy. Why might that be?"

"I don't know for sure, but according to our sources, his mission, with Cerberus help and supervision, is the same as yours."

He looked up at the turian. "You mean—"

"The colonies," Victus confirmed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you ran into him at some point. If you do...well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Yes, sir," he replied with a nod. "Thank you for telling me. Cerberus aside, it's...just the shot in the arm I needed."

A crooked smile crossed the turian's face as he nodded. "Carry on, Miles. Victus out."

Arthur clicked the channel closed, leaning back into his chair and letting out a long breath as he thought the conversation over. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to the door, and he leapt from his seat, making his way to the bridge.

"Ashley, can I talk to you for a second? It's important."

The Alliance soldier gave him a look, but nodded and rose from her seat, following him to a secluded section of the main deck. "What's up?"

Arthur took one last look around to make sure they weren't being listened to, then faced Ashley with a focused expression. "I'm telling you this...because I don't want you to hear it from someone else."

Williams looked him over concernedly. "Arthur...you're kinda scaring the crap out of me. What's wrong?"

The Assassin licked his lips, then let out a long breath and met her eyes. "I have good news...and I have bad news."

Ashley stared at him intently, eyes widening.

Arthur's jaw tightened. "Which do you want to hear first?"

* * *

AN: Guess it's not staying a one-shot after all. Can't say I have any particular creative fire where this story is concerned, so my release rate probably won't be particularly fast or steady. That said, I am rather intrigued by the concept, so who knows? Might strike gold where inspiration is concerned.

The _Aquila_ , since there really isn't a database of a lot of Mass Effect ships, is based off the Techno Union's Stratus-class light corvette, where looks are concerned. I wanted a ship that could represent both the high-tech futuristic aspects of the story while still paying tribute to the avian roots of the original _Aquila_. The Stratus-class seemed like the way to go.

Hope you're enjoying the story so far, and that everything's relatively clear. A lot of things won't be, for a while, but context will reveal the important bits in time.

Stay tuned for more.

 _Oya, vode._

\- CDrake


	3. Crew and Conflict

10 minutes later

The Aquila, mass relay transit to Terminus

2 years, 1 month after the Battle of the Citadel

Ashley stared blankly at the floor of Arthur's cabin, the slightly paling girl taking deep breaths as Miles looked her over concernedly.

"You understand what I just told you?"

The soldier gulped and nodded slowly. "But...you're sure they haven't done anything to him?"

"Apart from bringing him back from the dead? Nothing. I'm reasonably sure on that point. My source is very reliable."

She nodded again. "So...Cerberus, huh? Aren't they the ones you thought were responsible for the colonies? Now suddenly they're the ones _investigating_? Something doesn't add up."

Miles' head shook. "No, it doesn't. Something tells me the Illusive Man plans to use Shepard for his own gains." He smirked and gave Ash a sideways look. "But let's be honest here. Your skipper was the first human Spectre, and the man who defeated Saren Arterius, best in the business. If anything, _he's_ using _them_."

Her expression didn't change.

Arthur frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I...don't know." Her eyes welled up, expression still painfully neutral. "I just..." Her shoulders shook once, then twice as her brown eyes slammed shut, face buried in her hands.

Arthur laid a gentle hand on her shoulder as her body was racked with silent sobs, their positions unchanging for a good minute before she finally calmed down. Ashley straightened up, letting out a long breath as she wiped her reddened eyes and tear-streaked face. Miles gave her a reassuring smile, and she returned a much smaller one before downcasting her eyes again.

"So...I've heard the rumors," Arthur began cautiously. "But, from the source...what was the deal between you two?"

Ashley looked around his cabin as she gathered her thoughts. "When we first met, he was...it was certainly different, being around a living legend. And that was _before_ he became a Spectre. After...well, above all I felt honored, just being chosen to be a part of such a critical mission. And then...other feelings came."

Arthur arched a brow. "Feelings?"

She gave him a look. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

He frowned and crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. "Not sure I do, really. Sure, I've felt attraction, passing fancy, lust even, but...I don't know. From what I've heard, you two were a lot more than that."

Ashley shrugged. "Wasn't always that way, but after Virmire..." She cringed, letting out a sharp breath. "We had it out. It was a knock-down, drag-out fight between the two of us, once we were behind closed doors. I was so _pissed_ at him for just leaving Kaidan there. He tried to distract me from the truth, tried to feed me a line about intercepting Saren at my location, but, eventually...he admitted it." She looked up at Arthur. "He came back because he _couldn't_ leave me behind." She let out a bitter chuckle. "It's funny, I berated my sister for even _suggesting_ I break Alliance rules on fraternization, so I'd never have to make a call between a lover and the mission."

"But there Shepard was, doing the exact same thing," Arthur remarked, leaning closer to her. "And it was okay, wasn't it?"

Her head shook. "No. Not okay, but...easier. It was easier to know that there was a real reason he chose me over Kaidan, a reason that made sense, emotionally if not tactically."

"He loved you," Arthur said plainly.

Another laugh came from her throat. "Yeah...crazy as it was." Her smile faded. "Now that he's back...I don't know what to feel. I want to—"

"You want to feel elated, because the man you loved came back from the dead, but at the same time, a part of you feels dread, because you can't know for sure that he's the same person. Even if Cerberus didn't tamper with his higher functions or personality, that kind of experience...dying...I can't even imagine what it's like to come back from that. To _remember_ that."

Ashley gulped. "Yeah. Exactly. And who knows? Maybe...maybe he hit his head on the way down, maybe there was irreparable brain damage. What if he doesn't even remember me?"

Arthur gripped her hand firmly. "Cerberus was anal retentive about keeping his memories intact. Trust me, he'll remember you."

She nodded slowly, sending him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Arthur. No matter how this makes me feel...I'm glad it came from you." Letting go of his hand, she pushed herself to her feet and made for the exit after wiping her forearm across her face one last time. "Anyway, we should be coming up on the Terminus relay any minute now. Gotta get back to it."

Arthur nodded. "Of course. Let me know when we drop out of FTL. I'm gonna catch up on Hackett's intel."

Ashley hummed and strode out the door, shutting it behind her as Arthur pulled up his omni-tool. When the text of the file started blending together at some point, the Assassin rubbed his eyes with a sigh, pushing himself to his feet and marching out the door of his cabin.

"Hey boss!"

Arthur looked over to see a short, perky girl with white streaks in her blue-green hair approaching him at a near-run. He suppressed a smile as she skidded to a stop barely six inches from him, losing her balance and forcing him to grab her arm to keep her steady.

She huffed a relieved breath and swiped an empty hand through her hair, sweeping it out of her eyes and looking up at Arthur. "Thanks, boss."

Arthur let out a long-suffering sigh. "Delia, how many times have I told you not to run in the CIC? _Especially_ with those shoes?"

The girl looked down at her feet with a small pout, then back up at him, her head craning at this distance just to meet his eyes. "Whatever," she huffed, slapping a datapad against his chest.

Arthur coughed once as he lifted the pad into view, throwing the diminutive girl a glance. "What's this?"

"See for yourself."

His eyes scanned over the pad without really reading it as he waited for the ache in his chest to subside. _Damn, this girl can hit._ When it finally did, he registered the contents of the datapad, and his eyes widened. He looked back up at her. "When did this happen?"

"Two days ago. Just one day before a Cerberus team landed to investigate."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "Cerberus?"

"Mhm. Although, I hear tell _one_ of them was wearing N7 armor." She tilted her head with a conspiratorial smirk.

Miles looked back at the pad with a smile. "Son of a bitch. I'm guessing Victus told you too?"

She snorted. " _Told_ me? I'm one of the analysts he assigned to monitor Wilson. If anything, _I_ told _him_."

He gave her a peeved look. "And not me?"

She poked his chest obnoxiously. "You're not the Mentor of the Turian Brotherhood."

He shrugged helplessly. "But I'm your boss."

"Victus is _your_ boss…boss. His orders carry more weight."

Arthur rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. "Whatever. So…Freedom's Progress. That was the last abduction site?"

Delia nodded once, taking the pad back from him and marching off toward a relatively small galaxy map. "Wanna call the crew together?"

Arthur arched an eyebrow, then raised his hand to his mouth. "All hands, gather in the CIC. Mission briefing in two."

Ashley was the first to arrive, decked out in Alliance fatigues with her hair in its typical tactical bun. Next came Rory and Mick, the "Terror Twins," as Williams had aptly nicknamed them (on reflection, Arthur realized that woman nicknamed a _lot_ of things on his ship). Leopold shuffled in from the small vehicle bay down below, wiping his greasy hands on the mechanic's apron he wore. Greer was right behind him, a batarian with a blinded eye and more blades than Arthur could keep track of. Haegan Sinis was the next one in, a quirky salarian whose omni-tool was rarely inactive, considering how often he worked with Delia.

The last two were the quietest of the bunch, an unlikely couple from the Silean Nebula named Elatia and Nehesiun Calavia, asari and drell, respectively. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he saw them apart from each other. Hell, they rarely ever stopped holding hands. Nehesiun (Arthur just called him Sion) gave the captain a nod, his wife more interested in the galaxy map and what Delia's manipulations were doing to it. A red dot erupted in the eastern edge of the Terminus systems, then a half-dozen more elsewhere as more abducted colonies were outlined by the _Aquila's_ chief analyst, minimized holographic files next to each world.

Greer ghosted his hand over one such file, and it expanded into a virtual clipboard. Delia shot him a glare, and the batarian recoiled sheepishly, tucking both hands behind his back. The analyst then gave Arthur a smile and a nod. He nodded back, then took the podium at the head of the galaxy map, leaning both arms against it.

"As you all know, we've been contracted off-the-books by the Systems Alliance to investigate attacks on human colonies out in Terminus. As of yet, we have few leads pertaining to the identity of the culprits, but as you can see—" Pictures of each colony were displayed, some showing a few signs of combat, but all completely empty, like a plague had gone through and all the bodies buried themselves. "Whoever this enemy is, they have the technology and resources to abduct entire colonies—meaning thousands upon _thousands_ of people—without leaving a trace."

"Goddess," Elatia breathed, her husband squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"What's more, so far as we know, they're only going after _human_ colonies. Considering how many of those there are in unprotected space, it's going to be virtually impossible to predict where they're going to hit next, unless we can find a pattern to these abductions." Arthur pushed off the podium and leaned back, arms crossed. "Ideas?"

Sion leaned toward the galaxy map, blinking once before narrowing his first set of lids in focus. "Most are fringe worlds," he began in his modulated reptilian voice, "lightyears away from any assistance or reinforcements." He looked over at Arthur. "The culprits fear outside interference, therefore it is likely that their force is relatively small. A concerted military effort would be enough to repel them."

"But since no one gives a shit about a bunch of scattered humans," Greer inserted, "what muscle there is in the Terminus systems wouldn't come even if they asked."

"And since relations between them and the Council are fragile at best," Sinis added, "none of the core worlds can afford to send reinforcements."

"Hence our interference must be discreet and tactical," Arthur finished. "No one can know what we're doing there, and if they do, they can't find out why."

They all gave nods of assent, Rory leaning toward the galaxy map with his bottom jaw stuck out to one side. "What 'bout this one?" He pointed to Freedom's Progress.

Arthur glanced over at Ashley. "The most recent abduction site, that we know of. Freedom's Progress was a typical small colony setup, standard local militia supplemented by mechs and other defensive systems. According to our intel, we're not the first to be looking there after the abduction, or even second." He waved toward the map, rotating the 3D projection until the colony was within reach, then zoomed in and expanded its file. "Two teams were there before us, one a quarian research vessel looking for one of their people. The other—" he expanded a single blurry image taken from a planetside data network, "—was Cerberus."

A near-universal tension filled every crewmate present, most of it concentrating in their Alliance liaison.

Leopold squinted at the picture hard. "That's Cerberus all right," he confirmed, his thick Scottish accent leaking through, "'least the symbol on that shuttle is." He reached out and zoomed in on one armored figure, helmetless, standing over the corpse of a demolished YMIR mech with a smoking pistol in his hand. " _He's_ not."

A blazing red N7 was displayed on the right breastplate of the man's armor, his face cloaked in shadow, but glowing orange at sparse points scattered across it. A soft gasp could be heard from Ashley's side of the room, and Arthur had to resist the urge to give her a reassuring look.

"Chances are," Arthur continued, "the two previous forces already picked over what little evidence there is. It's just a matter of finding a way to get the data of one without compromising our anonymity."

"I may have an avenue on that," Delia cut in, typing feverishly on her datapad. "I hacked into the data stream of the shuttle Cerberus used to insert their team, and backtraced it through three different comm buoys—god, you have no idea how difficult that is. Those pricks have one of the most annoying—"

"Delia," Arthur interrupted sharply, catching her attention with a suppressed smirk on his face. "Keep it simple. Get to the facts."

Delia blinked rapidly, shaking her head. "Right." Her gaze went back to the projection as she clicked one more key on her pad. "Anyway, I managed to backtrace the signal from that shuttle to an open comm frequency just long enough to snag the majority of the report file." She smirked. "Listen to this. 'Collectors confirmed as source of attacks on Freedom's Progress. Quarian survivor Veetor returned with Tali'Zorah to the Migrant Fleet. Will examine his omni-tool data for anything useful.' Signed, Miranda Lawson."

Miles blinked hard, then looked over at Ashley. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you thinking a rendezvous with a quarian research team?"

He shrugged with a teasing smirk. "We agree on a few things every now and then."

Ashley snorted and rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to the map. "Just a few."

"At any rate," Arthur continued with a clearing of his throat, "Delia, I want you to put some feelers out. Use our contacts within the flotilla to get into contact with Tali'Zorah's team."

"Or I could just send her a message," Ashley suggested with a snarky air.

Miles shrugged. "Or that." He looked over at her. "I'm still not used to the idea of you being useful for anything except putting holes into people."

"Shut up."

"Williams," he said sharply, "you're in charge of contact. Delia, you managed to backtrace heavily encrypted Cerberus communications. See what you can do to get us a more permanent link to their database, something we can use to strike at them if and when the time comes."

"Roger, boss."

"Twins, I want you two on requisitions. Our gear? Substandard. Our first stop is the Omega station. I want you to get us kit that isn't too expensive, but reliable and discreet. We can't have too high-end of weaponry, otherwise we're gonna start turning some heads we don't want turned."

"Right on, cap'n."

"Leopold—"

The Scotsman gave him a bored look.

Miles pursed his lips. "Just…keep doing what you're doing."

"Elatia, Sion, you two pair up with DelSinis as our boots on the ground for intelligence gathering on Omega. Find out who the major players are, get us someone we can lean on, someone we can use to network. Omega is the heart of the Terminus systems. If we gain a foothold here, we can get whatever we need to complete this mission."

The couple nodded, their movements synchronized to a microsecond.

Arthur gave them a baffled look before shaking his head and facing the last crewmember present. "Greer, you know the mercenary scene better than anyone I've ever met. Go through your contacts, see what they can give you. Kit, upgrades, information, anything."

The batarian gave him a slow nod, all but one of his eyes blinking in tandem, the last milky white and sliced through.

It irked Arthur to no end every time he did that, like one eye was always watching. "You've all got your assignments. We're about—" he glanced at his chrono, "—six minutes out. Let's get rolling."

A concerted murmur of assent rumbled through the gathered crowd as they dispersed to their various stations, Miles making his way toward the cockpit. The pilot's chair was occupied by a slender, keen-eyed turian female with white skin and red-striped face paint over her nose, upper mandibles, and eyebrows. The effect was a mirrored Assassin symbol over the upper and lower parts of her face, a clear sign of her trust and commitment to the Brotherhood, since such elaborate facial tattoos were a sign of origin or allegiance among turians.

As a result, however, Viria rarely left the ship, or the cockpit for that matter, so as not to alert potential enemies of her alignment. If Miles had to decide, though, the quiet turian was probably the one person on the _Aquila_ he trusted most. Not to say that he didn't trust the others, only that Viria was such a straight shooter that he found it difficult not to put his complete faith in her. Well, that and the fact that every time the _Aquila_ left dry dock, he was putting his life and the lives of the crew in her hands. That sort of thing tends to engender quite a bit of trust.

"How we looking on the approach?"

The green-eyed turian glanced up at him, then returned her gaze to the status panel and nodded contentedly. "Solid enough, I suppose, though the drive core is showing signs of…illness, for lack of a better term. We'll need to perform maintenance soon."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "Hopefully we'll be able to do that in Omega. Let Leopold know what you need. I've put him in charge of general maintenance. He'll get you whatever you need."

Viria nodded once, eyes intent on her station until a few seconds passed, then one of her brows arched. "Something you need, captain?"

Miles' lips pursed as his arms crossed, a crease coming to his forehead. "Viria…you've always remained silent whenever I've discussed my long-term mission, because up to this point, my personal pursuits have assisted the Brotherhood."

She stared blankly into space. "But?"

"Now we're coming to the point where the two begin to diverge. Will you support me when the time comes to go in for the kill?"

Her expression was frighteningly neutral. "Aaron Cross is a high-ranking Templar who answers directly to the Illusive Man. As far as I'm concerned, your mission _is_ the Brotherhood's mission."

Arthur arched a brow. "And when it's done, if I choose to leave? If I choose to stop?"

One of her mandibles twitched. "I will be disappointed." She looked up at him. "But I will respect your decision, even if I don't agree. You are a competent warrior, and a Master Assassin. By removing such a powerful enemy from the board, I think you will have earned your peace."

His expression darkened as he stared out the front viewport, a bitter smile on his face. "Peace was never an option."

They remained silent for several minutes, the gentle hum of the cabin only interrupted when they dropped out of FTL, the massive station of Omega filling the viewport.

"Docking procedures initiated," Viria intoned, her tone tight and professional. She glanced up at Miles. "You should get dressed."

He arched a brow at her. "Do I look naked to you?"

"No, but something tells me Alliance threads aren't gonna earn you a lot of friends here."

Arthur snorted a laugh. "True enough. Let me know when we're sealed in and ready to go."

"Aye-aye."

Arthur strode from the cockpit and rounded several corners to get to his cabin, punching the door locked and cracking open his personal locker.

A set of hybrid armor sat inside, fibrous and flexible, designed to look like normal civilian clothing while packing considerable tensile strength and tear resistance. Ablative plates of ceramic armor were concealed beneath the surface of certain sections covering the heart and other vital organs. A kinetic barrier generator sat on the belt, built into its buckle, which was adorned with an engraved Assassin symbol. The fabric itself was light gray with a darker blue knee-length overcoat and black highlights on the shoulders, sleeves, and legs. The latter two bore two vertical stripes of black running down the sides.

The boots were inner-plated and reinforced against heavy impact, the outside adorned with synthetic leather held together with dense polymer straps and magnetic grips. The gauntlets were similarly assembled, thick enough to provide sufficient protection from knives and even ballistics, but thin enough to be hidden under the overcoat's sleeves. The gray, pointed hood provided little more protection than the flexible armor it was made from, but then most targets never got a shot at his head. Taking a deep breath, Arthur pulled it off its mountings, the basic armor assembled and donned first, then the gauntlets and boots, and finally the overcoat.

The moment the locker clicked shut, his cabin's door opened, and a pink-and-white-clad Ashley stepped through, looking him up and down.

"Not bad, if you're into the whole 'tall, dark, and shifty' look."

Arthur snorted and pushed past her. "You're not coming."

Her brows furrowed as she followed him into the CIC. "And why not? This armor doesn't have a single scrap of Alliance identification."

"No, but it _is_ your trademark, and the original Normandy wasn't here long enough ago for these people to forget." A frown permeated his features as Delia sent something to his omni-tool. "Damn. Looks like they don't even need a reminder." He projected a larger form of the image on his omni-tool into Ashley's view. "Looks like there's a new Normandy docked here right now."

Her eyes widened. "What?" She yanked his arm closer to her. "Let me see that." Her face gradually paled, both their jaws tightening when they saw the Cerberus symbol painted on the front of the ship. "Bastards," she whispered. "Bad enough they steal Shepard…but the Normandy? That symbol desecrates the name of a beautiful ship."

"Not that I'm disagreeing with you," Arthur began cautiously, "but this is exactly why I don't think you should come."

"Excuse me?" she ground out.

"This is all too fresh right now. You're too emotional, and that's going to get us in trouble if we run into them out there. My face is unrecognizable to them, as are all the rest of the crew. You're the only odd piece. This way, if we do make contact, I have a chance to establish a line of communication, a way to monitor the inner workings of the Normandy."

Her brown eyes narrowed, and a small scowl took over her face, but she eventually gave him a grudging nod.

Arthur made for the airlock, but was stopped when Ash called his name.

Her expression was little more than desperate. "Just…make sure he's okay. Please."

He nodded sharply, then motioned to Elatia and Sion, waving them toward him. They each flanked him, Greer already at the airlock with the Twins, who were swatting at each other with some of Leopold's maintenance rags (probably stolen). The batarian gave his captain a nod, Miles returning the gesture as he stepped into the airlock, the six of them exiting into a filth-ridden dock. Arthur pulled his hood up over his features, the pointed tip falling just beyond the bridge of his nose and casting deep shadows over his features.

"Look alive, people," he ordered, voice deepening to a crisp professional tone. "Get what we need and get back to the ship. Comm. if you run into any trouble. Above all, do _not_ broadcast our presence. Yes, I'm talking to _you_ , Twins. If we get another incident like Fehl Prime, I _will_ cut your next five shore leaves completely and stick you down in the maintenance bay with Leopold."

They paled considerably, but Rory ventured a defense. "C'mon, boss, you _know_ those militia boys had it coming."

"Be that as it may, it was an unnecessary and costly intervention that made our job there _infinitely_ more difficult. If your…'moral compunctions' force you to do the same here, at least _try_ to be more discreet about it."

"Yes, boss," they muttered.

"I'm sorry? Didn't catch that."

"Yes, boss," they repeated, almost exaggerated in volume.

Arthur smirked and stepped off the gangplank. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He gave them all a serious look. "You know your jobs. Unless I tell you otherwise, meet back here at 0900 hours."

"Roger," they intoned in tandem, Elatia and her husband breaking off first, followed by Greer and the perpetually bickering Twins.

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed hard, a rueful smile on his face as he split off. "Jesus," he muttered. _If you'd told me I'd have children for friends when I started this gig, I would've laughed you to the next century._ _I guess a lot can change in two years._

As he marched off toward the club known as Afterlife, any stray thoughts were instantly eliminated, his full focus on the task at hand.

…

19 months ago

Docks, Zakera Ward, the Citadel

6 months after the Battle of the Citadel

"What exactly are we looking for?"

Arthur sighed hard and rolled his eyes. "I'm not quite sure myself, but something tells me I'll know it when I see it."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?"

Miles' teeth ground together painfully as he took a deep breath to calm himself, silently reminding himself that the annoying woman also had a gun to his back on a hair-trigger. Well, not currently, since all her weapons were holstered, but still. Instead, he forced his voice to level as he replied. "It means exactly what I said."

"That makes zero sense."

"Okay," he conceded, knowing full well she probably wouldn't believe him if he told her.

Instead, he closed his eyes for a few moments, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment, then snapping his eyes open. The world faded to a gray blur around him, faces in the crowd blending together as mere shapes as he looked around with his new eyes. Glancing behind him, he was unsurprised to find that Chief Williams was a pale purple, flecks of both blue and red flowing through her limbs. A small, nearly inaudible snort left his nostrils as he turned back to the crowd, peeking around the corner and taking stock of his field of vision. C-Sec and customs officers were highlighted in blue, while some passersby or loungers had flecks of white. _No reds or golds so far._

A frown creased his features as he checked the time. _Tannis is three minutes late. Either that or he's scoping out the area same as me, from a position I can't see._

"Problem?" Ashley asked.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Maybe. I need a better vantage point."

He made for a side alley, followed closely by Williams as he gripped a protruding pipe and hauled himself up to another handhold. Repeating this process, he ascended one level to a catwalk overlooking the dock and activated his sixth sense once more, scanning the crowd for signs of Tannis. A blurry gray shuttle touched down on the dock, and as its side hatch opened, his eyes widened, a confident smile coming to his face.

"I've got him," he spoke into his comm., his left hand twitching in anticipation.

"Where?" Ashley asked, peeking around the corner of the alley.

"The Kodiak that just landed. He stepped off first." He pursed his lips, then glanced toward the far end of the catwalk. "I'm gonna take him out."

"Okay, two problems. One: you can't just 'take out' someone in the middle of a crowd."

He snorted. "You've obviously never heard of the Renegade, then."

"Who?"

Arthur smirked. "Exactly. And two?"

"…two, this 'Tannis' guy is Alliance."

Miles' smirk evaporated instantly as he blinked rapidly, his Eagle Vision sapping away as the world came back into color. His teeth ground together painfully as he stared at the retreating man, the blue of an Alliance officer's uniform staring back. _I might just have to knock Williams out and take my chances. I can't assassinate him otherwise, not without hard evidence._ His eyes narrowed. _Unless…_

A confident smirk came to his lips as he dropped into the alley and faced Ashley. "Let's just follow him for now, see what he does."

Ashley gave him a narrow-eyed look, but nodded slowly, ushering him forward. He strode into the dense crowd, weaving through one pedestrian after the next as his escort was gradually lost in the throng. An amused shake of the head was his only response upon finding her completely out of sight. Leaning around a group of loungers, he spotted Tannis heading for Level 28 and followed suit on another stairwell. Reaching the top, he found a dark corner and waited for the captain to reappear.

He didn't disappoint, and although it was clear he was scanning his environment for threats, Arthur had the training and skills of one of the greatest Assassins that ever lived. Tannis never even saw him coming. A quick glance around revealed that Ashley still hadn't caught up, and a split-second decision sent his hidden blade snapping from his sleeve as he approached _Il Carnefice_ from behind. Suddenly, he found himself catapulted into a dark corner and shoved against a wall, an armored forearm pressed against the side of his neck.

He blinked rapidly, registering a familiar set of white-pink armor. "The hell—"

"You said we were just gonna _tail_ him," Ashley hissed into his face. "So what the hell—" she grabbed his left arm with her free one, "—is this?"

Arthur's blue eyes narrowed as he calculated the ways he could bring her down without doing permanent damage. Suddenly, something in his peripheral vision caught his eye, a reflection with his target in view. A flash of metal in his left hand caused him to focus harder. A keen, curved edge was perceived a moment before it vanished back into a fold of Tannis' lapel.

"Williams, it's happening now."

"What?"

He turned back to her. "Tannis. He's here for a target."

Her eyes narrowed. "Right. Sure. And I'm a Spectre. You know, I'm sick of this. I should've gone with my first instinct and just arrested your ass. Come on, you're coming—"

He broke her grip with a knife-hand to her left wrist, then palm-heeled her solidly, knocking her back a good two feet. "We don't have time for this _shite_ , Williams." Arthur winced. _Gotta stop reliving Kenway's memories._ "Tannis is going into the Dark Star with a karambit, and by the time he comes out, it's going to be stained with someone's blood. Believe me or don't, I don't care." He leaned toward her slightly with narrowed eyes. "But get in my way, and I don't care who you think you are; you _will_ walk away with something broken."

A vicious staredown commenced for about ten seconds before Arthur broke eye contact, making for the club with all due haste. He entered about a half-second before his Alliance tail, spotting Tannis heading for one of the VIP rooms. Arthur refrained from popping his hidden blade as he rounded the corner, having to suppress the instinct as every alarm in his head started blaring at full volume. Tannis' back was in view in seconds, the man shuffling through an open door, the electronic lock beeping as it shut behind him.

Two seconds were enough for Miles to break in using one of Rada's bypass programs, then duck inside with Ashley. Two men were heard speaking to one another, but their voices were muffled by the wall between them and the unwanted guests. Tapping his left index against his thumb, the audio sensor in his left glove went active as he pressed it to the wall.

"You're joking, right?" came a deep, gravelly voice.

A smoother one answered. "Not at all. Keller was making a deal with an Assassin we've dubbed the 'Renegade.' He's been operating here on the Citadel for some time now, even bumped off Erstein a couple months back. Up until then, we'd had no mention or sign of him before."

"I've heard of this Renegade through my sources in C-Sec. Rare for someone so highly trained to just pop up out of nowhere."

"The Assassins have been holding him back, I think. Going silent for a while, letting us rebuild enough to become visible, then strike with an unexpected weapon."

"Like as not, Cross, but if you think he's such a threat, why did you take _Keller_ out with the first shot and not him?"

"Because if I'm right about who he really is, the Grandmaster will want him alive."

"Seriously? Shit. What do you want me to do about it?"

"Truthfully? Nothing. Go to ground, vanish. He's probably looking for you as we speak, and if he finds you, I can't guarantee your protection."

"No ploughin' way he's that good, Cross."

The answering voice was profoundly irritated. "Good enough to frighten most of our contacts into silence, so _yes_ , Michael, I'm willing to bet he's that good."

"And the executor?"

Cross' voice lowered to a predatory growl. "Leave him to me."

Arthur's eyes widened. That _doesn't sound good._ He looked over at Ashley, who he'd patched in via omni-tool, to see her with a similarly alarmed expression.

"Wait," Cross said suddenly. A few seconds passed. "Well I'll be damned. Clever _mal'chik_ …"

High-pitched static filled Arthur's ear as pain lanced through the appendage, the Assassin cutting the feed an instant later. "Shit. He jammed us. They know we're here; we need to go."

"But they said—"

"I _know_ what they said, but we'll be more useful out of here, in public than in body bags no one will find until the custodians come around." When she still refused to budge, he frowned and gave her a pointed look. "If you stay here, I can't guarantee your protection."

She pulled a shotgun from the back of her belt. "Please. I can do that myself."

He kept staring at her for a few more seconds before rolling his eyes. _Screw it. It's her ass._ Arthur lifted an eyebrow. _And a mighty fine one. Not even that clunky armor can hide that._ His head shook rapidly as he reached for the door controls. Three fingers rose and fell in a countdown sequence, his fist clenching as he punched the controls and rushed inside. They both froze when a half-dozen gun barrels greeted them on the other side. Arthur's lips twisted into a grimace. _Damn. Plan B then._

With a nearly-imperceptible nod to Ashley, he dove to the left as gunfire broke out. His kinetic barriers absorbed one, two, three shots before he finally found cover behind a metal couch. The deafening boom of a shotgun filled the room as Ashley opened fire, taking out two thugs in her first salvo before the weapon overheated, forcing her to back off through the door. Closing his eyes and counting the shots, Arthur took a deep breath and let it out just as slowly as his left hand flexed and closed into a fist, a section of glowing orange holograms sprouting on the underside of his forearm.

His right hand went to the construct, his index perching on the surface of one section until there was finally a pause in the shots. And then his jaw tightened and he popped out of cover, left arm extended. Several bullets streaked from his arm, cutting down another two gunmen before the rest bolted for the opposite exit. Ashley warily stepped into the room, shotgun held high as she swept from wall to wall, eyes eventually settling on Miles.

"I heard gunfire from your side. How did you—"

He held up his left arm and pulled back his sleeve to reveal an armor-plated gauntlet, one tier longer and thinner than the other, which was a C-Sec blue.

Ashley's eyes widened. "Is that a—"

"Gun? Yeah." He made for the door, bracing himself against one side and peeking around the corner, seeing nothing but an empty hallway. "Pulled this off a C-Sec officer when he wasn't looking, then shaved it down to the firing mechanism and integrated it into my omni-tool. The application serves as a trigger, the mechanism a hidden gun, barely larger than two fingers stacked side-by-side."

"Useful," Williams murmured as she stacked up behind him. "What now?"

Arthur's lips pursed as he moved into the hallway, checking both ends but finding nothing until he triggered Eagle Vision. "We split up." He deactivated his sixth sense and turned to face her. "Cross and Tannis were talking about taking care of the 'executor.' Now I don't know about you, but there's only one executor that comes to mind here on the Citadel."

Her face registered his conclusion. "Executor Pallin. Garrus' old boss."

Arthur arched an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You need to get to him, warn him about Cross, whoever he is. We don't know what he looks like, so be wary of anyone who comes to see him."

She caught his arm when he attempted to leave. "Where are you going?"

He snapped his hidden blade out briefly before retracting it as a routine weapons check. "To hunt an assassin."

Ashley pursed her lips as she looked him over, and for a second he thought she was going to protest—or shoot him. Instead, she nodded slightly and said, "Be careful."

Arthur cocked his head a little and dipped it in agreement, then sprinted for one exit as Williams took the other, each soldiers in their own way, one not entirely by choice. As Miles bolted out of the Dark Star lounge in pursuit of his prey, he sent a silent prayer, not for his own sake, but Ashley's.

…

Present

Afterlife Club, Omega

The gray hood drew a few stares, but none of them lasted long, considering how many odd types were strolling through the seedy nightclub. On a station that never seemed to sleep, it was probably a misnomer to call Afterlife that. Regardless of semantics, Arthur pressed through the thick crowds of dancers and loungers, all the way to the bar, where he simply tapped the counter and waited for whatever the bartender came up with. The Assassin glanced around, surreptitiously making note of the guards and potential points of interest.

His eyes closed briefly before opening with his secondary vision active, and a few things became suddenly obvious. First, no one in this godforsaken place was actually friendly, most operating on little more than a hair trigger, not that that was surprising. Second, the bartender and a few other patrons were highlighted in white, so obviously sources of information. Good. That would help. The final piece that fell into place was a single point of brilliant golden light at one elevated section of the club. He stepped away from the bar as his Eagle Vision faded, looking past the crowd, past the asari pole dancers, and let his jaw drop halfway open before he caught himself. His blue eyes, however, stayed wide as saucers as they locked briefly with those of a scarred, black-haired man in the VIP booth.

With N7 armor.

* * *

AN: Hope everything's making sense so far. I learned a long time ago that description is better than explanation, so if things feel a bit on the vague side, that's why. It's supposed to be subtle. Other than that, I hope the flashbacks aren't disorienting any of you too badly. They serve a purpose similar to that of the TV show _Arrow_ , so if you're a fan of that, you'll know exactly what I mean.

Otherwise, I hope you're all enjoying the ride so far. I have a bad habit of getting really excited about a fic and trying to do too much too fast, then losing my steam halfway to the finish line. I'm really trying to pace myself with this story, so if it seems like updates are coming in rather haphazardly, that's why.

Be sure to give me some feedback if you're so inclined, and look forward to more coming soon.

 _Oya, vode._

\- CDrake


	4. Connections

Afterlife Club, Omega

2 years, 1 month after the Battle of the Citadel

 _Don't stare don't stare don't stare._ Arthur coughed and dragged his eyes back to the drink at the bar. Slapping a few credits down, he downed it in one shot, grimacing at the burn of the unknown liquor but otherwise feeling little of its effects as he pushed away and made for a ground-level booth. A flirtatious asari dancer held out her hand as he shuffled into the seat, climbing atop the table and beginning a performance despite his obvious indifference, mostly due to the stack of credits he left in her palm when she took his hand. Instead, his hooded eyes were fixed on the black-clad soldier in the VIP booth above him, narrowing as he blinked twice rather rapidly.

A virtual interface bloomed in his right eye's vision, a suite of functions listed on the left side in vertical order. Flickering his focus over to one, he blinked twice again, then looked back to the booth and took a deep breath. A few keystrokes on his omni-tool synched the optical implant with his earpiece, and the built-in laser mic began transmitting the conversation.

"I'm trying to track down Archangel."

The Asari he was meeting with, Aria T'loak, if Arthur wasn't mistaken, scoffed and smirked. "You and half of Omega. You want him dead too?"

Shepard hesitated a moment before replying. "I'm putting together a team. He's on my list."

Aria smirked. "Interesting. You're going to make some enemies teaming up with Archangel."

Arthur leaned his elbow onto the occupied table as he put a finger to his temple, looking up at the meeting intently.

"That's assuming you can get to him," she continued. "He's in a bit of trouble right now."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The local merc groups have joined forces to take him down. They've got him cornered, but it looks like they're having trouble finishing him off."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. _From what I know, Omega's got three major mercenary organizations. All three teaming up to take out one guy? Almost sounds like an Assassin._

"They've started hiring anybody with a gun to help them. They're using a private room for recruiting…just over there." She nodded toward one end of the club. "I'm sure they'll sign you up."

Shepard leaned toward her, elbows on his knees. "What can you tell me about Archangel?"

"Not as much as I'd like," she replied with a disgruntled frown. "He showed up here several months ago and started causing all sorts of problems. If you make your own laws—which everyone here does—he makes life difficult." Aria leaned toward Shepard. "He's reckless and idealistic—but he seems to know enough to stay clear of me."

Shepard nodded to her. "Which merc groups are after Archangel?"

She smirked. "Blue Suns. Eclipse. Blood Pack. They're Omega's major players. Unless they're at war, you'll never see them together, but one thing they hate more than each other is Archangel."

Arthur's eyebrows skyrocketed. _As they'd say in the 21_ _st_ _century,_ respect _._

"Do _you_ hate Archangel?" Shepard asked almost off-handedly.

"I don't have time for hate," she scoffed. "But I distrust them all equally. For now I'm happy to just let them kill each other."

Miles rolled his eyes.

"I appreciate the help," Shepard said as he pushed himself upright.

Aria smirked again. "See if you feel that way when the mercs realize you're here to help him."

He gave her a small nod of deference. "I should go."

She simply hummed and looked off into the distance as the rogue Spectre descended via the stairs on her left. Arthur's eyes followed him, noting with furrowed eyebrows that he was alone as he walked into the recruitment center. When he strode out a few minutes later, Shepard's right index pressed to his earpiece, his left arm occupied with an N7 breather helmet.

"Miranda, I've got a line on Archangel. How are you and the professor getting along?" He was silent a few moments, nodding periodically. "Uh huh. Right." An amused smirk tugged at his scarred lips. "Just make sure he has everything he needs. Last thing we want is equipment failing because he was working with substandard materials—not that that would stop him, anyway. Send Jacob to meet me at the coordinates I'm sending you. This mission is time-sensitive. Shepard out."

The Spectre lifted his helmet with both hands, donning it effortlessly and sealing it with a hiss. He froze halfway to the exit, looking over his shoulder to lock eyes with his Assassin tail. Arthur just stared back, face as impassive as he could keep it. Shepard's eyes narrowed behind the glass of his helmet, their dark cerulean irises made even darker in the poor lighting of the club, before he turned away and marched out the exit. Letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Miles rose from his seat and slapped another few credits on the table, the grateful dancer sending him one last smile before blowing him a parting kiss.

The Assassin made his way out in a matter of seconds, rounding a corner into a dark alley as he pulled up Delia's frequency. Before a single word came from his lips, a profound sense of vertigo overcame him, followed by a dull pain in his back as he was slammed against a wall. An armored forearm pressed against his neck, much harder than Ashley had _ever_ done. His eyes darted up to the source of the attack as he struggled for breath. _So_ that's _who she learned that from._

Shepard's black faceplate was only inches from his nose. "Who the hell are you and why are you following me?"

The helmet-altered voice was even more grating and intimidating than his normal tone, but Arthur was an Assassin. He nodded to Shepard. "My name is unimportant. You wouldn't recognize it. As for why I'm following you, the answer is simple. You're too important to leave to chance."

Shepard's eyes narrowed as the pressure on Arthur's neck increased to painful proportions. "Explain."

Miles winced. "We want the same thing: the Reapers, gone." He leaned toward Shepard as much as he could. "And I don't trust Cerberus to have your back."

Surprise flickered through Shepard's eyes for barely a split-second before they hardened again. "I don't trust them either, but for now, they're the only allies I've got."

"Not the _only_ ones." Arthur slowly reached over to his raised left arm, activating his omni-tool and displaying a set of contractor credentials—with Alliance serial numbers. "I'm an agent of Admiral Hackett…and a friend of Ashley Williams."

Tension filled every fiber of Shepard's frame for a second before he resumed breathing, and he slowly let Miles down from the wall. The Assassin coughed repeatedly as he rubbed a hand over his bruised throat, blinking rapidly to clear away the black spots before his vision finally focused on the dead Spectre.

"Glad you saw reason," Arthur said finally.

When he saw Shepard cock an eyebrow behind the glass of his helmet, he lifted his left forearm into view, a steel-gray hidden blade extended from under his sleeve. It snapped back beneath the folds of his overcoat a second later, the Assassin checking the entrance of the alley for any onlookers. When his vision shifted back, Shepard's omni-tool was active, checking Alliance records, by the look of it.

Confused, Arthur pointed at the projection. "I thought the Alliance cut your—" The Assassin's eyes widened when he saw the Spectre symbol in the upper-right corner of the screen. "Oh."

Shepard scanned the same line three times, then looked up at Arthur and powered down the tool. "You're clean. But why are you here? Hackett knows better than to send Alliance personnel into Terminus space."

Arthur took a step toward him. "That's why he picked _me_. Because technically, I'm _not_ Alliance. Hell, apart from being Councilor Anderson or Admiral Hackett, the only way you can even access my record of employment is the way you did it—Spectre status."

Shepard gave him a look. "And why exactly would Hackett give _you_ that kind of clearance?"

Miles shrugged. "You'll have to ask _him_ about that someday. I'd tell you myself, but right now, I can't be seen with you, especially not with your Cerberus pals skulking around."

The commander nodded. "I understand. Better get going then. One of them's about to show up any minute now."

"Got it." Arthur glanced outside the alley, then nodded toward Afterlife. "I overheard you talking about Archangel in there. Need any covert backup on this one?"

Shepard gave him a once-over. "I appreciate the offer, but no. If you're as recognizable to Cerberus as you seem to be implying, then the last thing I want is to be seen near you."

"Right." Miles pulled up his omni-tool and hit a few keys. "If you ever change your mind, my frequency's on your omni-tool."

"I'll keep that in mind." Shepard turned toward the alley's exit, spotting Miranda and Jacob just outside. "Now, you better make yourself—" When he turned back to the alley, it was empty save for the dirt and grime. "—scarce."

…

 _Holy shit holy shit holy shit._

Arthur's breathing and heart rates were through the roof as he pressed his back against a wall just a half block away from Commander Shepard and his newly-arrived subordinates. His vitals began to stabilize once they left aboard a mercenary shuttle, no doubt bound for Archangel's last stand. When he was finally returned to semi-coherence, he took a deep breath and activated his crew-wide comm. frequency.

"All crewmembers…this is Renegade."

"Sion here," the drell Assassin answered. "What happened, Renegade?"

He peeked around the corner, double-checking that Shepard was indeed gone. "I just ran into a living legend…and I'd very much like to get off this rock as soon as possible."

"Understood," Greer replied. "You heard the captain. Double-time it, people."

"Thanks," Arthur muttered gratefully.

For all intents and purposes, the scarred Batarian was his second when ashore, and for one reason or another, always knew exactly when to step in, always knew when his captain was having a mini-crisis. As Arthur peeled himself off the wall and made for the docks, he cast one last glance at Afterlife and let out a long groan, then trudged back into the club. The Assassin marched straight toward the stairs, pushing past the pair of guards, who immediately drew weapons before finding both of their pistols inoperable due to two searing hot, nearly diamond-hard silicon-carbide blades jutting through their barrels.

With arms outstretched, Arthur glared up at the last guard, daring him to try something as two glowing, silver hidden blades stood barely a half-centimeter off the surfaces of his sleeves. When the batarian failed to respond other than staring at him incoherently, he shifted his fierce gaze to Aria and found her smirking.

"Well…" her smirk widened, "you make quite the entrance."

Arthur remained silent.

"Not much for words." She stood slowly, hands clasped behind her back as she began pacing. "I don't have much faith in them myself, to be honest. But, on the occasion…" she stopped and turned her head toward him, "I do need to employ them. So, I hope you don't mind me asking just what the _fuck_ you think you're doing."

Arthur's head slowly tilted to one side, his fingers splaying outward a moment later and retracting the blades as they spun back into their respective omni-tools. "Commander Nathan Shepard."

Aria tilted an eyebrow. "What about him?"

"You pointed him toward Archangel, into the middle of who knows how many mercs."

"By his own request," she defended. "Nothing you or I could've done to stop him."

"No, but in the future, if I find out that you intentionally put him in harm's way for any reason whatsoever…" he leaned toward her, "I _will_ come for you."

Far from drawing back in fear the way most of his targets did, she simply grinned and let out a loud cascade of harsh, mocking laughter. After nearly a minute of endless chuckles, she finally locked her eyes back onto him. "Boy, do you think you're the first highly trained man to threaten me?" She waved to her batarian bodyguards. "I _own_ Omega. You attack me, you probably won't survive, but even if you do, this whole _station_ is loyal to me. You won't make it halfway to the docks." Her eyes narrowed as they flared with biotic energy, her voice lowering to a low, predatory whisper. "And don't think that because I hired _these_ idiots to stand watch over me that I'm defenseless."

Miles smiled nastily. "Just making sure you knew the stakes. Shepard is more important than you can ever realize."

"I wouldn't know about that." Her fists loosened, and she smoothly seated herself once again. "I'm a smart woman."

"Then I hope you're smart enough to pick the right side when the time comes." Arthur glanced at the hapless guards staring at him and rolled his eyes. "And you should _really_ invest in better security. Couple krogan, maybe."

Aria smirked. "Oh, believe me…I have."

Two large shadows were cast over Arthur's back as loud thumping footsteps approached him from behind. He let out a noncommittal hum as he slowly turned around and walked past the massive krogan mercenaries, the pair escorting him to the exit. He walked out without complaint or protest, marching past the doors to the docks, where the rest of his shore party was waiting for him.

The Twins straightened up as soon as he was within sight, pushing off the crates they were sitting on to throw him a concerned look.

"You a'right boss?" Mick asked.

"Fine," he replied in a morose tone, "but I think I just broke my own rules."

The Twins exchanged a look before grinning madly.

"Shut up," he ordered, "and wipe those grins off your face. The person I confronted isn't the type to be spouting secrets on the streets."

"And if I may ask," Sion began, "who exactly _did_ you confront?"

Arthur winced visibly. "Aria T'loak."

All present except for the Twins either sighed, facepalmed, or both.

"Oh goddess," Elatia sighed.

"Look, it wasn't my finest moment, okay? But under the circumstances, I figure it was necessary."

"And what would those be?"

He pulled up his omni-tool and projected the recorded footage of Aria's last meeting. "T'loak meeting with Commander Shepard."

"He was there?" Greer asked. "In Afterlife?"

Arthur nodded once. "And alone, no less. Gave me a unique opportunity to provide us an in with the Normandy."

"And do we have one?" Sion asked.

Miles' lips pursed. "Maybe. We'll know more in time. For now, let's just get back on the _Aquila_ and take stock of what we've done so far."

The crew nodded and followed him across the gangplank of their ship, entering the airlock moments later as a decontaminating fog filled the chamber.

…

19 months ago

Lower Wards, the Citadel

6 months after the Battle of the Citadel

Arthur leapt through a cloud of exhaust smoke, the flaps of his leather jacket flapping in the rushing air as he sprinted through one corridor after the next. A trail of hurried footsteps was highlighted in gold on the path in front of him as he flew toward its source, nearly oblivious to the crowd he was about to rush into until he slowed down briefly. The trail was picked up again as he pushed his way through the throng, more than a few pedestrians sending him angry shouts and dirty looks.

He ignored them all in his feverish pursuit of _Il Carnefice_ , the fingers of his left hand itching to snap a hidden blade through his spine but instead curling into a fist as the intensity of the gold highlights began increasing. He was catching up. When the crowd began to peter out, his vision finally cleared, no longer blurred by all the noise of his surroundings. A brighter flash of gold scurried around the corner of an alley, Arthur blinking to bring his other five senses back into focus as he sprinted in pursuit. The moment he rounded the corner, all the breath rushed from his lungs in a massive whoosh, his feet skidding to a stop barely an inch from the edge of an impossibly long drop.

Looking around rapidly, he spotted a moving form some two stories above him, climbing on the side of a dilapidated building. Scowling briefly, Arthur leapt to an adjacent wall, grabbing a broken pipe and hoisting himself to a higher handhold while his left foot perched on a metal outcropping. He sprung off to his right a moment later, grabbing hold of a windowsill and using his arms to yank his body upward into a three-foot jump, both hands curling around a damaged section of the wall as his feet found purchase on the flat surface of the wall. A vertical line on his right allowed him to climb with the tension between his legs and arms, gaining another eight feet on his target before he saw Tannis leap onto an opposing rooftop.

Coiling up, the Assassin sprung backwards over the six-foot gap between buildings, landing in a crane step, then straightening up and resuming his pursuit. Although it was clear Tannis was in superb physical shape, he was much older, and his Alliance dress uniform was not meant for such rapid movement. Considering both the constriction of his attire and the tenacity of his pursuer, Tannis made a rapid calculation, then stopped in his tracks once Arthur was within six feet. A bright flash of metal was Arthur's only warning, and he took it, managing to shift his vector of movement from head-on to diagonal as he flew past the Templar.

That course correction wasn't enough to save him from the kukri knife that slashed through his right pant leg, and he soon felt a warm trickle of blood run down his thigh. _Only a trickle,_ he thought as he rolled away from Tannis. His left arm snapped out to the side, sending his hidden blade snapping from his sleeve as he faced off with the Executioner, eyes peering from his hood to meet with a set of wild green eyes, the balding man sizing him up with an expression of morbid glee.

Arthur just snarled as he dashed forward, left arm swinging at his neck as Tannis' knife rose to met it. The two short blades deflected off each other with a harsh screech as the Templar countered with a swipe at his collarbone. Miles snapped his torso to the side, falling into a crouch as he took another slash, this time at Tannis' gut, right to left. The Templar swung his hips backward, the edge of the hidden blade missing his uniform by centimeters as they drew back and reassessed.

A sinister grin slowly made its way onto Tannis' face as he reached into the right pocket of his lapel and slowly drew out a karambit, its razor-sharp edge glinting in the faint light from the plaza below. "You know," his rough voice began, "it's been too long since I was sent after an actual Assassin."

The two fighters began pacing around each other, one tense as a high wire, the other straightening up and twirling his curved knife with a swagger.

"Most of my targets these days have been cops, politicians…even took out an ambassador a few years back." The twirling stopped, the karambit's blade pointed in Arthur's direction. "But _you_ , Renegade…you're the enemy I was _born_ to kill."

Miles snorted derisively. "Funny. I was going to say the same."

Tannis grinned once again, then lunged in a two-handed spinning swipe, one knife going for Arthur's femoral artery, the other his carotid. Caught off-guard, Arthur leapt forward, his body going horizontal as the blades framed his hooded form and his arms wrapped around Tannis' midsection in a tackle. He quickly rolled off the Templar killer, popping his hidden blade to parry an incoming swipe while still on the ground, then clambering to his feet and yanking Rada's scalpel from his belt in his right hand. The razor-sharp weapon was held underhandedly, its owner bouncing from one foot to the other as he bit back the pain in his right leg and looked for an opening.

Feinting a lunge on Tannis' left side, he spun counterclockwise around the man's counter and slashed his upper left arm with his hidden blade, following with a quick jab of the scalpel into Tannis' deltoid. Though his grip faltered for a moment, the Executioner retained control of his kukri knife, swinging it upward and nearly putting a neat diagonal line through Arthur's face. As it was, the edge of the blade clipped the pointed end of his hood, leaving a small cut on one side. Arthur stabbed forward with his left arm, the appendage deflected to the side with Tannis' karambit, the curved edge digging into his concealed forearm gauntlet but doing no permanent damage as he lunged away from a kukri thrust.

Arthur's hidden blade retracted into his sleeve, the scalpel twirling between the fingers of his right hand for a few moments until it stopped abruptly, catching Tannis' eye. The Templar's attention diverted, Arthur lifted his left arm and tucked his thumb under his curled fingers, pressing the tip of it to the bottom of his ring finger. With a hydraulic pop, a barbed cable shot from the top of his gauntlet, piercing through the wrist of Tannis' left arm and deploying on the other side, locking it in place. Arthur pulled hard, yanking the killer off-balance and forcing a shriek from his throat as he roundhouse-kicked the Templar in the gut.

Tannis dropped his left-hand knife, swinging the karambit at the cord in an attempt to cut it, but to no effect. Arthur pulled on the cord again, grappling and grabbing his right arm with his left, keeping the curved blade just shy of his neck as he tried to stick Tannis with his own.

"Carbon nanotubes," he hissed. "Layered and twisted together to form a half-centimeter-thick cable. Damn near indestructible against normal weaponry."

Tannis just snarled and kept pushing. Miles pivoted his hips, driving a shin-kick into the side of the Templar's lower left leg, lifting his foot off the ground for a brief moment. The loss of balance allowed Arthur to throw him over his shoulder, then yank on the cable, eliciting another yell and pulling Tannis' arm into the air. He curled a leg around the outstretched appendage, then twisted his hips once again, dislocating it. Tannis shrieked again as the ligaments were torn from his arm, followed by his right hand being broken when Arthur leapt over a counterstrike and landed on it with both boots. Retracting the cable's barb, it zipped back into his gauntlet as he crouched over the fallen Templar, knee on his chest. His hidden blade snapped from his sleeve, its tip pressing against Tannis' neck as he scowled under the hood.

"The executor," he growled. "Talk. Now."

Tannis sneered. "Go to hell. You think you've accomplished _anything_ by beating me? You're a minnow in a sea of sharks, and you don't know that most of them are even there."

Arthur's eyes glared at the prone Templar for a few moments. "What about your associate, Cross? Is _he_ a shark too?"

A harsh, sardonic smile twisted Tannis' aged features. "A shark?" His head leaned toward Arthur's hood. "Cross is _the_ shark."

The Assassin's eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean? What do you know about him?"

Tannis' jaw tightened. "Enough. More than enough to take to the grave with an air of accomplishment."

"What are you talking about?"

A harsh laugh bubbled from his throat. "You just have no clue, do you? Do you even know why your Assassin Mentors have been sending you after the people you've killed? Have you even bothered to ask?"

Arthur remained silent.

Another chuckle. "See, this is why I have no respect for your kind. You flaunt your ideals of free will and informed decisions, and yet you fail to ask the questions necessary to exercise either, just going wherever the pricks in charge send you. 'Go here,' they say, 'kill that man'…and you do it." He snorted. "What a fucking joke."

Miles' upper lip twitched. "I know _exactly_ why I do what I do, and in this case, I'm removing a dangerous criminal from the face of the galaxy." He smiled malevolently. "One less shark, if you will."

Tannis snarled. "Yeah…good luck with that."

Without another word, Arthur pushed the blade into the Templar's throat, causing harsh gurgling sounds to last for a few moments before they stopped. Arthur slid the blade back into his gauntlet, running his palm over Tannis' eyes and closing them as he stood up. Glancing down at his right leg, he was relieved to see that his injury was already sealed, but frowned when he saw Tannis' kukri laying some distance away, his blood on its surface. Snatching up the knife, he dragged a cloth over its surface, then deployed his omni-tool and activated a mini-igniter application, reducing it to ashes in seconds. He then strode over to Tannis' body and pulled a data chip from his belt, tucking it inside the Templar's hand and closing his dead fingers over it.

His omni-tool activated as he accessed Ashley's comm. frequency. "Williams. Williams, you there?"

Static greeted him for a few moments before it broke suddenly. "Yeah," she answered finally. "I'm at the executor's office. We had an…incident."

Arthur frowned. "Explain."

"An anti-alien extremist tried to walk into C-Sec headquarters—with a bomb."

Miles' eyebrows shot upward. "Did you stop him?"

She snorted. " _Someone_ did. Wasn't me though."

"Oh?"

A moment's pause. "I'm a good shot with a sniper rifle…but not even I'm that good."

Arthur's lips pursed. "I take it you never saw the shooter."

"No. Shot came from a rooftop about a half mile away. By the time C-Sec got there, he was already gone. If it even _was_ a he."

"Understood. Thank you."

"Yeah…what about Tannis?"

He looked over at the corpse. "Executed."

Williams was silent a while. "Yeah…okay."

He arched a brow. "Okay?"

"I mean…based on what he said, and what you showed me…he wasn't going to let you take him alive."

A brief stab of guilt was brushed off and ignored. "Yeah. Put up a helluva fight though."

"Anyway, where are you headed now?"

He smirked. "Why? You planning on having a celebratory drink?"

She chuckled a little. "Maybe."

Arthur's smile faded. "Have to take a raincheck. I have a promise to keep."

"Well that's cryptic."

"But true. A friend of mine asked for a favor, and I'll be damned if I don't deliver."

"Man of your word. Not an easy quality to find these days."

He smiled a little. "I do my best. Anyway, have that drink ready. I'll be coming for it sometime."

"You got it, Miles. See ya around."

The Assassin closed the channel and gave Tannis one last look before sending his coordinates to Lieutenant Varus and marching toward the edge of the rooftop. He leapt off the building a moment later, arms outstretched as he vanished from view.

…

Present

The Aquila, Omega dry dock

"Viria, where are we on liftoff?"

The turian glanced up at him, then back to the display. "Almost done with maintenance. I give it another five minutes, plus two to test the drive core for any issues. Can't be too careful with fringe-world mechanics."

Arthur snorted. "Can't be too careful with fringe types period." He was silent a moment, then patted the back of her chair. "Well, let me know. I want this bird off the ground ASAP."

"Roger that."

The Assassin walked out of the cockpit, toward the elliptical CIC, where the rest of his crew were milling about, Delia already collating radio transmissions from mercenary groups detailing the outright massacre suffered by their forces in the last forty minutes. The girl shot him an awed look, biting down on her lower lip as she tossed a video feed onto the CIC's holoprojector. The crew gathered around the 3D image, more than a few eyebrows rising when a black-clad soldier effortlessly took two mercs out in a flurry of gunfire and hand-to-hand strikes. The helmeted man drove his armored fist into the nose of one, then snatched up his pistol and plugged the other in the knee, finishing the first and kicking the second in the face.

The feed fast-forwarded to when a Blue Suns gunship ambushed the building Shepard and Archangel were holed up in, bombarding the latter with explosive fire just minutes before the rogue Spectre charged at the vehicle, guns blazing. He snatched up an SMG from a fallen merc, emptying the thermal clip, then firing a concussive shot from his omni-tool as he kept running. The pilot had evidently decided to get in close to get a clear shot at Archangel, and in no way expected what happened next. Commander Nathan Shepard _flew_. Well, jumped, really, but he'd apparently had a set of jump-jets installed on the back of his boots, and when he leapt from the window, twenty feet of air were crossed in a matter of two seconds.

Just long enough for the pilot to realize what had just happened.

Shepard's right omni-tool flared up as a large blade swung out of its fabricator, then sliced through the windshield of the cockpit, shattering the glass. A small cylinder was pulled from his belt as he held onto the ship's metal frame, then dropped into the cockpit as he coiled up and launched backward, jump-jets going full-flare for just over a second. The device detonated a moment later, the gunship shattering from the inside out in a massive fireball that added extra force to Shepard's escape.

His kinetic barriers flared for a second as he flew toward the building, landing in a skidding crouch that kept him on his feet as he watched the gunship's debris fall into the void. Two of his crew, one male, one female, rushed over to Archangel's body as Shepard joined them, immediately grabbing the turian's hand.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Wait. Delia, zoom in on the turian." His eyes widened a second later. "Wait…is that—"

"Garrus Vakarian," she answered. "Facial recognition confirmed it."

His lips pursed. "When did this happen?"

"Just over ten minutes ago. They left for the Normandy immediately afterward."

"So…we don't know what happened?"

She shrugged. "Not for sure, but it didn't look good."

"What was that about Garrus?"

Arthur turned toward the new member of the audience, her features pulled into an alarmed frown. "He's one of Shepard's new crew…if he survives."

Ashley stared up at the feed, frozen on Garrus' damaged, agonized features, her own pulling tightly in concern.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "If anyone can get him to pull through, Ash, it's Shepard. You know that."

Glancing over at him, she nodded slowly, then gulped hard and crossed her arms over her chest. "So what now?"

His lips pursed. "Well, the Twins managed to requisition some black market weapons. Standard armament, really. Vipers for long-range, Katanas for short, Vindicators for assault ops. Couple machine pistols plus plenty of heavy ones. Nothing too flashy or expensive, so they didn't draw all that much attention."

"Well uh," Rory interrupted, "that ain't exactly all true."

Arthur sighed hard, then shot him a glare. "Explain."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, boss, relax. Just chill, okay?" He pulled a small white box with a handle from the back of his belt. "This one I got special ordered, just for you."

Arthur accepted the proffered device and hit a switch on its side, deploying it into a mid-size heavy pistol with the designation "M5" painted on its side.

"M-5 Phalanx," Rory explained. "Clip size of twelve and deadly accurate with a laser-guided firing system and an upgraded rate of fire. One shot per trigger pull, no matter how fast you go."

Miles nodded slowly, checking the weapon over, then twirling it into a magnetic slot on the left side of his belt. "Nice. But flashy," he scolded. "I told you not to go flashy."

The Twins exchanged a look, then shrugged as Mick spoke up. "We just kinda thought it'd be good to get you something nice. Ya know, to show our appreciation, and all that."

The captain sighed, slowly letting a smile spread over his features. "Thank you, but you know you didn't have to."

"Naturally," they both replied with identical Cheshire grins.

Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. "Anyhow—" he checked his watch, "—I think we're about ready to lift off. Elatia, Sion, tell the others what you told me. I'm going for a nap."

Ashley arched an eyebrow as she followed him into his cabin. "Seriously?"

He gave her a look. "It's been a long day, and I trust those two to brief the others on the situation."

"But you're the captain."

"And yet in no way am I supposed to hold the hands of my crewmates for every second of every day. I understand the need to lead by example, but in this case, I'm not exactly at my best." He slumped into a chair and rocked back, frowning at his desk.

She sat down across from him. "Why's that?"

His blue eyes drifted up to her face. "I went over the files Hackett sent me on Cross."

Ash leaned forward. "And?"

His expression darkened. "The only lead we have is probably another dead end. A rumor of an operation out here that he _might_ be connected to. Bastard hasn't been confirmed as seen in Council space anytime within the last six months."

"He must've been doing _something_ for all that time."

"Yeah, but six months? Hard to stay hidden for that long, with only rumors to speak of your existence."

"Why? Garrus did it for almost two years as Archangel."

Realization flickered through both his eyes and mind as an epiphany struck him. He looked up at her, renewed vigor in his eyes. His terminal was typed in for a few feverish seconds, over a dozen different files and reports skimmed in a matter of minutes as the confused liaison looked on. After five minutes and the sounds of the drive core starting up, he grinned ear to ear. "Ashley…you're a friggin' genius."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Can you say that again please?"

He looked up at her, grin still present. "You, ya madwoman, are a _genius_. When we met, I was going by 'the Renegade,' a moniker assigned to me by the media, and chasing down a man who was called 'the Executioner.' Nehesiun goes by 'Sion,' Delia by 'Prophet'—" he deployed a monitor into her view, "—Cross by 'Carmine.' The Red Baron, known for his brutality against local mercenaries in the Terminus systems. Little bastard was hiding under my nose the whole time."

Ashley frowned. "I don't understand."

He hit a few more keys. "Neither did I at first, and then I got to thinking—what if I search for reports of an ace sniper, someone reported to make impossible shots on a regular basis?"

"And you found this…Carmine."

"Exactly. Now he _is_ confirmed to be connected to the smuggling operation Hackett told me about. Something of a mob boss running guns, drugs, and all manner of contraband all up and down Terminus space." He grinned once more, jabbing his index into the image of a red-masked man. "That's him. Toppling every organization he's a part of just became my top priority."

Ashley smirked and lifted an eyebrow. "Glad to be of service," she chuckled.

He leapt from his seat, then marched over to her chair and planted a smacking kiss on her forehead before she could get up or otherwise respond. The woman just stared at him with blank, openmouthed features for a few moments as he returned to his seat.

"Now get out," he chuckled. "I really do need to sleep," he added, rubbing his palms over his eyes.

Ashley just shook her head and stood slowly, making for the exit. She hesitated in the open doorway. "Hey Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"You saw Shepard, didn't you?"

"Yes."

She looked over at him. "Did you talk to him?"

A moment's hesitation. "Yes."

Her stance tensed. "And? What did he say?"

Arthur smirked. "After nearly killing me…he just said that for now, Cerberus is his only ally. I told him they aren't."

Ashley observed him for a few moments, then nodded slowly and turned away.

"Ash," he called out.

She stopped.

"I told him I was a friend of yours. Implied that you were still his ally too." He hesitated a moment. "Are you?"

She remained silent for nearly a minute, then looked back at him. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Miles sighed, but nodded as she left his cabin, sitting and staring off into the distance as his mind wandered. After a few minutes, his eyes drifted back to his monitor, and he leaned toward it, chin on his clasped hands as his lips twisted in a malevolent smile.

"I got you, you son of a bitch."

* * *

AN: Here's another chapter for you guys. Moving into college has slowed me down more than a bit, but on the whole I'm just finding it harder to write anything of substance than I ever have before. Never experienced a dry spell this severe, and it sucks.

Anyway, I hope you're all enjoying how this is playing out so far. I've decided that this story isn't going to be nearly as episodic as some of my others, with some significant time gaps just so I'm not stuck writing this forever. I can't say that I have a particular emotional investment in it, no drive to just get it done and out there, so I've really been taking it slow. Hope I'm keeping you interested and coming back.

Please review and read on.

 _Oya, vode._

\- CDrake

P.S.: Almost forgot, those double hidden blades Arthur used? The glowing ones? They'll be explained in the next chapter. And just to give you an idea about how they work, the way they work (at least at this point) is that each blade is actually comprised of two that spin out from a mount and come together to form a single weapon, much like the Prowler in Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood.


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